Bonded in Blood
by Aikawa Akihiko
Summary: ON HIATUS! Harry is attacked, the only way Snape can save him is to turn him. Meanwhile after Voldemort's defeat,Hogwarts has become a battleground with Draco caught in the middle Vampire!Snape Vampire!Harry Slash SS/HP, eventual Vampire!Draco and SS/HP/DM
1. Attack

**Disclaimer: This fanfiction is based on the characters and situations created by J.K. Rowling, and belongs to her, several publishers including but not limited Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, Carlsen Verlag and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made with this and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.**

**Summary: Harry is attacked and the only way Snape can save him is to turn him, forging an eternal bond. Meanwhile the world is still in turmoil after the defeat of Voldemort and even Hogwarts has become a battleground between light and dark with Draco caught in the middle. Vampire!Snape Vampire!Harry Slash SS/HP, eventual Vampire!Draco and SS/HP/DM. **

**Beta reader: Much thanks to Iriya!**

**Chapter 1- Attack**

Theodore Nott waited patiently in the shadowed alcove down the hall from the Potions classroom. From where he stood he had a pretty good view of inside the classroom where Professor Snape was supervising detention. Scrunching up his sharp nose at the putrid smell wafting from the room, Nott checked his watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. It was almost time.

Inside, the Potions Master glared balefully over the top of the Potions Journal Weekly he had been surreptitiously reading while keeping an eye on his student, one Harry Potter. The boy was simply hopeless. He had nearly destroyed his classroom with his blatant disregard for potions safety protocol, and blown up his cauldron. The resultant malodorous sludge and thick smoke covered the floor and coated the walls, so that even now, five days later, the potions classroom still faintly smelled of week old vomit. It was a debacle worthy of the perpetual catastrophe personified by the Longbottom boy.

Severus Snape took great pleasure that day in giving the Boy-Who-Lived the dressing down of his life, loudly and venomously in front of the whole class. He chuckled softly into his reading material as he recalled the delightfully vivid shade of red Potter had turned in his humiliation, being sentenced to two weeks of detention and responsible for the loss of fifty points from Gryffindor.

It was Friday night, the last night of his first week of detentions. Harry kneeled on his hands and knees, scrubbing- _without magic_- at the crusted grime that still remained on the floor from his potions accident. He shifted restlessly, the hard stone floors of the dungeons painful on his bony knees and his fingers growing red and raw from the nightly vigorous scrubbing. Since Monday, he spent his time in detention alternating between cleaning and throwing glares at his hated professor, who contented himself with throwing glares and insinuations about the abundance, or rather lack of, his intelligence right back.

Finally the professor rose from his seat behind his high wooden desk. "That's enough now, Potter," he spat. He gathered up his potions journal and a pile of corrected student's essays before he glared at the boy gingerly raising himself from the floor. "I will see you bright and early tomorrow morning."

"Tomorrow? But, sir, tomorrow I have a Quidditch game!" Harry tried hard to reign in the suspiciously whiny tone of his voice.

"Well, you'd better find a good replacement, shouldn't you," Snape sneered.

Harry's shoulders drooped in resignation. "Yes, sir," He mumbled, gathering his cleaning supplies and putting them back in the broom cupboard.

Outside, Nott waited, a shiver of excitement raced up his spine. This is it. The time has finally come to take his revenge on the blasted "Chosen One". His muddy brown eyes narrowed in his thin, rabbity face as he watched Potter exit the potions classroom at last.

Nott had been waiting so long for this. He had been planning since the summer after his fifth year, always standing in the background, never giving anyone cause to pay him any mind. That was after the incident at the Department of Mysteries, and it was revealed that his father was a Death Eater when he was injured, captured, and imprisoned in Azkaban. Young Nott, never one for the spotlight anyway, knew to keep his head low if he ever wanted to exact his revenge. Keeping his mouth shut and staying away from the likes of Malfoy and his goons, who stupidly and blatantly proclaimed their affinity with the Dark forces, Nott was able to slip under the radar and avoid the attention being the son of a known Death Eater would bring.

He had not acted fast enough, however. The summer of his sixth year, the Dark Lord, in all his mercy, broke the Death Eaters out and they fought valiantly at his side at the Battle of Hogwarts. A pang went through him at the thought of his father, now a bumbling shell of a human, drifting around the bowels of Azkaban, having been one of the first to be given the Dementor's Kiss after Potter vanquished the Dark Lord.

And it was all Potter's fault.

Nott trembled in the shadows in an adrenalin fuelled euphoria, and followed silently behind Potter as he was dismissed. He slowly meandered down the hall, oblivious to Nott's presence. Carefully looking around, seeing no one else and knowing they were now far enough from the potions classroom to go undetected, Nott made his move. Stepping out of the shadows, he revealed himself and called out to the boy shuffling his feet ahead of him.

"Potter," he called quietly.

Harry spun around in a whirl of robes, startled by the sudden presence. His green eyes, glinting in surprise, soon grew guarded when he saw who had crept up behind him. Though the boy standing before him had never made any move, nor spoken any word against him- at least to his knowledge, Harry could not forget his link to the Death Eaters. The simple fact that he was a Slytherin made him suspect enough, in Harry's mind, and the fact that he was slinking in the dark corridor was equally worrying.

"Nott," Harry answered coldly.

"There's something I need to tell you," the tall and lanky boy said, pushing his fingers through his thin, straw colored hair and darting his eyes around the corridor.

Harry narrowed his eyes at the Slytherin, taking in the nervous gestures. "What?"

Nott looked into his eyes pleadingly. "I have to tell you something, something serious. Something about-" he gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing in his scrawny throat. Here he lowered his voice to a whisper that had Harry straining to hear it. "Something about the recent Death Eater attacks."

"What is it?" Harry took a tentative step forward.

"Not here. This is Slytherin territory. We might be overheard. Follow me. There's a classroom at the end of the hall that no one uses anymore," with that he waved Harry to follow, turning on his heal and heading back the way Harry came and passed the potions classroom.

Not once did it occur to Harry to tell Nott to tell the Headmistress, or even Professor Snape, who could have made much better use of the information than he. The attacks, by poorly organized bands of the remaining fraction of Death Eaters still on the run and other like-minded sympathisers, who believed in the pureblood superiority rubbish but refused to serve Voldemort, on muggles and muggleborns were getting more numerous and more vicious each week. The Prophet was having a field day reporting their activities in gruesome detail. It never occurred to Harry to suspect the informant, after all who would know better than the Slytherin son of a Death Eater. Besides that, Harry was just as desperate as all the members of the Order to put a stop to the vile attacks on the innocent.

Harry sprinted to catch up to Nott who had disappeared around the corner and into a doorway. Harry pushed open the heavy oak door, which creaked in protest, having obviously not been used in quite a long time. Quietly, he shut it behind him, locking it and casting a silencing spell on it so no one could overhear Nott giving him information. He turned to his companion, surprised when he was met with a look of pure amusement on the boy's face. He stood there tapping his wand on the palm of his hand, grinning at him.

"Thanks, Potter. You did half my job for me," Nott's face twisted into a malicious smile.

Harry instantly knew he was the stupidest boy on the planet. _When I get out of here, Hermione will never let this go. She'll claim it yet another instance of my "saving people thing" getting me into trouble_.

Before Harry could open his mouth to respond, Nott had turned his wand on Harry. "_Crucio._"

Harry dropped to the stone floor screaming. His back arched and his muscles convulsed as pain ripped through his body. It felt as if his flesh was being torn from his bones and his nerves were on fire. His muscles ticked and flailed, as if he were being electrocuted, his arms, legs, and head slamming repeatedly on the stone floor. After what seemed like hours, Nott released the curse. Harry panted, his harsh breaths scraping against his throat, raw from screaming, and trembled with the after effects of the curse.

"_Accio_ Potter's Wand," Nott drawled. Harry's wand flew from where he had deposited it in his back pocket. _So stupid! I didn't even draw my wand_, he thought.

Harry could do nothing but gaze up at his attacker, helpless on the cold stone floor of the abandoned classroom as Nott sneered down at him. "We are going to have fun tonight. I'm going to make you scream and beg for death for what you did to my father. Then you are going to pay with your life in honor of the Dark Lord!" he was screaming by the end of his announcement. "FLAGELLUM ARDENS!"

A bright, burning beam of fire emerged from the end of Nott's short Hornbeam wand. He swung it over his head and his face was alight with manic glee as he whipped it down. As the whip of fire lashed across his chest and flayed open his skin, Harry screamed in agony and realized that after all the trials of his youth and the defeat of Voldemort, he might finally meet his end at the hands of a fellow student.

HPSSHPSSHPSS

Severus' robes billowed behind him as he skulked around the corner. After he got rid of the Potter brat, he only had time for a single cup of coffee - bitter, black, and special ordered and owled in from Uganda; just how he liked it - before he had to start his shift on hall patrol. It was not his favourite thing to do, so when he was forced to make rounds through the corridors of the castle, he made it worth his while. The students caught out of their dormitories past curfew would never consider it again after Snape was through with them.

So it was that in the first few minutes after midnight, the usually cantankerous Potions professor prowled the halls, tired without the proper amount of coffee, fully irritated by dunderheaded students – _like Potter!_, and looking for one of the said students to vent his wrath upon. In the darkened and sparsely lit halls, the acrimonious professor was able to keep to the shadows, his black robes blending into the walls. His shoulder-length hair whipped from side to side as he searched the corridors, flying away from his face with the fast pace of his walk.

Severus entered the familiar passageway that crossed the Entrance Hall, each step of his leather boots clapping over the well-worn stones that had seen the admittance of hundreds of thousands of witches and wizards for nearly a millennium. He gazed out of the large stain glass windows on either side of the large oak entrance doors and flanked by two suits of armor, to the view of the cobbled stone path that led to Hogsmeade. The wide path was flanked on the sides by the edge of the Forbidden Forest on the right. The Quidditch pitch lay just beyond Severus' field of vision on the opposite side. The cloudless night sky was alive with the twinkling of stars except for the part on the horizon that burned orange with the burning lights of Hogsmeade in the north.

Suddenly Severus came to a stop. Something, on the periphery of his senses, caught his attention. He stood frozen in place, holding his breath, trying to detect what had caught his attention. He half hoped it was the pitter-patter of children wandering the halls. He had had little luck on his "hunt" tonight. This was what made him a fearsome teacher; made his students believe he had eyes in the back of his head. His senses were acute, finely tuned to near perfection, able to detect things that normal people could not.

Just when he was about to give it up as his overtired brain at work, he heard it again; a "splat" noise. Was it Peeves, throwing unidentifiable substances around the halls again, in the distance? No, it sounded far too close for that. Could it be something dripping from the walls? He supposed it was possible.

He scanned the wide open Entrance Hall. In front of him was the Grand Staircase. It was wider at the bottom than the top and was lined by broad solid stone balustrades. The massive structure was the main access to the various floors and funnelled the students into the Great Hall. It was empty except for the sleeping portraits that lined its walls.

Opposite him was the corridor that contained the ground floor classrooms and led to the Entrance Courtyard. It was there that the supposedly legendary departure of the Weasley twins took place. He shuddered at the thought of those troublesome Weasleys, thankful that he only had one more year until he was done having to deal with the whole red-headed brood, outside of the Order at least.

He turned and surveyed the adjacent side of the room. It held the massive double doors that opened to the Great Hall. The great oak doors rose nearly to the high vaulted ceiling and came to an arched point at the top. Three wrought-iron bands ran across the heavy wood surface, from the three hinges and ended in points, pointing toward where the two doors came together. At the bottom of the doors, Severus noticed a dark pool of liquid.

He stepped closer. The liquid, appearing black in the sombre lighting of the flickering torches, was a small puddle, half of it disappearing under the door and into the Great Hall. As he neared the puddle, Severus' sensitive nose picked up a familiar metallic tang; blood. Standing in front of it, a drop of the blood dripped from above. Severus looked up to find the source.

His usual cold exterior melted away as his mouth dropped open in incredulity. There, hanging from the surface of the doors, was a body. Severus ripped himself back from underneath it to get a better look.

The body was stripped naked, revealing that it was a male. The boy, for he was obviously young, was stretched against the door revealing a short and undernourished frame, his ribs and hip bones clearly visible. He hung, magically by a Sticking charm, from the top of the doors by his wrists, which were tied together over his head. His pale skin, only visible on his hands and the rare clean patch on his body was nearly completely covered in drying blood and it matted in his dark hair. It was clear he had been tortured and beaten. One of his arms seemed longer than the other one, having been popped out of his shoulder socket, and one of his legs swung at an unnatural angle. Open wounds and gouges in the skin littered his chest, stomach, and thighs.

Severus' breath was stolen from him, with the ferocity of the violence. Yes, he had seen worse at Death Eater meetings, but he certainly never expected to see such viciousness here in the school. He stood gazing up at the sight before him for a few seconds before he was torn from his shock to an even greater level of horror. In the silence of the Entrance Hall, he made out a low gurgling sound from the body. _Merlin, he's alive!_

Severus snapped out of his daze and sprang into attention. There would be no time to go find someone to witness this and help him; he would have to get the boy down now. He knew, from the extensive medical training he needed to get his Potions Mastery, that the position the boy was in, his arms stretched above his head, was restricting his ability to expand his chest and breathe; that is, if he were not drowning in his own blood.

He took off his robe and laid it on the cold stone floor. "_Finite_," he incanted, whipping his wand over his head to unstick the body from the doors. He cast a Lightning charm on it as it fell_. _The body dropped and he barely caught it before it hit the ground. Lowering the boy to the floor, Severus gently laid him on his robes, careful not to jar his shattered limbs.

He pressed his fingers to the blood soaked neck, checking for a pulse. The heartbeat was nearly non-existent, moments from stopping altogether. The gurgling was there, his attempts at breathing coming much too infrequently and too shallow to do much good. Severus lifted his head to his face, preparing to attempt to clear the boy's airway. Upon coming face to face with the boy, however, he froze. For the second time in as many minutes, Severus Snape lost all sense of himself with the power of his shock. Though the face had been as battered as the rest of his body, and his glasses were nowhere in sight, the victim could be easily identified by the distinct lightening bolt scar that peaked from underneath blood matted black hair. Before him lay the boy that has been the bane of his existence and the object of his sworn protection, Harry _Bloody_ Potter.

Under a coat of blood spilling from his mouth, his lips were blue due to lack of oxygen. The distinctive rat's nest the boy called hair was saturated and weighed down with his own blood, his face was now made up of a pattern of swollen bruises and open cuts, disfiguring him to the point of being nearly unrecognizable. Now that he was closer to the body, Severus could see his chest, back, and legs were littered with lash marks, the wounds burned into the flesh as if the whip was on fire. What little unmarked skin that was left was carved with words. Down his right thigh "Chosen One" was cut into the flesh. On his stomach, a crude drawing of the Dark Mark was burned into the skin. Most telling of all, across his boney chest "The Dark Lord's Memory Lives On" was carved with angry gouges.

Severus barely noticed any of this in the heat of the moment. What caught his eye were the normally piercing green eyes- _Lily's eyes,_ now clouded over, half lidded and unblinking. Unfocused and blank, they seemed to be looking right at him.

Another gurgling breath, this one noticeably shallower than the last, focused Severus' attention back to the matter at hand. Alarm went through him when Potter didn't take another breath. He bent down and pressed his ear to the boy's chest again. The heart was only beating sparingly, but it was still going. It wouldn't for long, however, seconds only. Severus cursed the fact that you couldn't use Apparition inside the castle wards; he would never make it to the hospital wing in time. Harry Potter was going to die, unless Severus did something drastic.

_I'm so sorry Lily. I've failed you!_

Severus wrapped his arms around the limp body, picking it up and cradling it against his chest. Potter's head rolled to the side, exposing his thin pale neck. Severus ran his tongue over the back of his teeth as he felt them shift and his canines elongate into his blood teeth. Quickly, before the boy's heart stopped beating, he bit into the boy's neck, piercing his skin with ease and penetrating the jugular. He sucked and drank what little remaining blood there was in the boy. Most of it had made its way out of him and coated his body and the floor, but it was still slow going. Severus usually had the help of a rapidly beating heart to help circulate the blood to his mouth, but sucking it out would have to do.

Hurriedly, he raked his sharp teeth over his wrist, probably doing more damage than was strictly necessary in his efforts to be swift, cutting open a deep wound and allowing the blood to flow. Before Potter's heart had the chance to take its final beat, Severus pressed the weeping wound to the boy's mouth. The blood pooled in his mouth, until Severus stroked his throat, working it down.

After a minute of this, Severus withdrew his shredded wrist and waited. Seconds passed, seeming like hours, panic rising in the Potions professor's chest. Suddenly a small gurgling breath was heard, and then another. Relief washed over him like a bucket of ice water poured over his head. Once again, he pressed his fingers to the boy's neck, listening for the heart beat. It sounded distinctly stronger than before.

Knowing the boy could still succumb to his devastating injuries if they weren't treated soon, Severus gathered the Boy-Who-Lived in his arms, wrapping him in his now soiled robes. He ran through the corridors, hoping he was not jostling the young man's broken bones, but knowing it would not matter if he did not make it to the hospital wing in time.

Running up the Grand Staircase and down the twisting hallway, he finally burst through the infirmary doors.

"Poppy!" he yelled, panting from his run and the effort to keep upright after the loss of blood. He set the broken body carefully on the nearest bed, all the while bellowing for the nurse.

Madam Pomfrey bustled out of her living quarters that connected to the ward. "My goodness, Severus! What's going on?" she questioned, before catching a glimpse of the bloody mess on the bed. "Dear Merlin! Goodness gracious! What happened?" she exclaimed, quickly getting into healer mode and digging out her wand from her robe pocket.

"We need to clear his airway," the Professor explained. The mediwitch twirled her wand over the boy's mouth and nose, drawing out the blood from his lungs and airways. It was drawn to the tip of the wand like a magnet and then dropped to the bed and the floor with a splash.

"Mercy! How is he still alive?" Madam Pomfrey inquired, aghast at the amount of blood. The Potions Master did not answer her. Once it appeared that no more blood would come out, she turned to face him. The mediwitch knew him well enough to be able to see the weary and slightly guilty look in his eye through his usual mask. "Severus?"

He sighed, sitting tiredly on the bed next to them. The adrenalin rush from the discovery had faded and he was more tired now than before. It was a hard question to answer, but he was glad she did not ask who it was. Obviously she did not immediately recognise Potter and could not see the scar under the matting of bloodied hair. He would do nothing to inform her unless he had to. He knew how fond she had grown of the boy, with his frequent visits, and she would surely be horrified to find out just who's life she was working so hard to save. "He was dying and he wasn't going to make it to the infirmary. I-I turned him."

Pomfrey gasped. "Merlin!" She turned back to the unconscious boy who was breathing much easier, though still not well. Seeing the broken body in front of her she pushed her shock away and cast a diagnostic spell. A long piece of parchment appeared over him and the nurse grabbed it scanning the sheet for the worst and most life threatening injuries. Discovering the ribs puncturing his lung and the shattered spleen, she got to work on the internal injuries, waving her wand and muttering a near constant stream of incantations.

Severus, still catching his breath and swaying a bit from blood loss on the bed, licked at his wounded wrist. After a few laps, it began to mend, the torn flesh pulling together and the skin sealing closed, leaving only a shiny pink scar that would disappear in a few days.

Once that was done, he rushed over to the fireplace and, throwing in a pinch of powder, fire-called the new Headmistress, urging her to come to the hospital wing immediately. In silence, except for the murmured spell casting, the two worked on the boy's profuse injuries, waving their wands in tandem in intricate patterns and pouring potions into him.

The flare of the Floo signaled the arrival of the Headmistress. Still bedecked in the day's tartan robes, she made her way to the Potions Master's side. Upon seeing the beaten body on the bed, she stopped short and gasped and clapped a hand to her mouth, "Oh, my! What on Earth happened here?"

Severus turned to McGonagall with troubled eyes. Madame Pomfrey continued to administer salves and potions as she answered for him. "Severus just brought him in. The poor dear has clearly been beaten and tortured. When he arrived he was drowning in his own blood and bleeding internally. His left lung was pierced by one of his six broken ribs. His right tibia is shattered and his pelvis is cracked. His right humerus is dislocated from the shoulder, and there are multiple deep tissue bruises on his stomach and back, as if he was kicked repeatedly. There is also clear evidence of torture, burning, whipping, and gouging of the skin and flesh," she paused in her ministrations and took a shaky breath, "The poor dear is lucky to be alive."

McGonagall slowly approached the bedside to gaze upon the still bloody youth. She surveyed the words engraved in his flesh with growing alarm, zeroing in on the wound on his thigh, "Chosen One". Holding her breath, she flicked her gaze up to the blood and tear streaked face and recognized the boy who was like a grandson to her. "Great Merlin!" her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she turned to her Potions Master. "Severus, what happened?"

Severus gulped and worked to place his hardened mask firmly in place, erasing all emotion from his face. Seeing his once stern professor and now friendly colleague in this much pain was hard and he was not just a little fearful of what her reaction would be to his actions. He steeled himself and told the woman of the discovery. The Headmistress' shoulders sagged when she heard of the Potter boy strung up like meat in the Entrance Hall.

Then Severus paused and continued. "Minerva, the boy was one heart beat away from death, so I… I turned him." Severus waited, bracing himself for the inevitable explosion of screams and crying. He felt a warm hand slid onto his shoulder and looked up into sad sage green eyes.

"Now Severus, there was no other path you could have chosen. You saved his life, and that is what matters," the Headmistress said kindly, visibly trying to control her emotions. "Indeed, you have taken a great risk, exposing your condition to the world, even though knowledge of it could cause you immeasurable amounts of trouble. I thank you, Severus."

"But, Minerva… I've turned the Boy-Who-Lived into a vampire and bound him to me for eternity! How can that be ok?"Severus exclaimed, his mask falling away and revealing his worry.

Madam Pomfrey, who was listening intently to the story, tutting and murmuring incantations, gasped loudly at the news of who her patient was. "This is Mr. Potter?" she cried.

With the volume of her exclamation, no one heard the astonished gasp that came from the forgotten patient bedded on the other side of the room.

**A/N: Other than the actual Harry Potter books, this story would not be possible with out the amazing information at Harry Potter Wikia and the Harry Potter Lexicon. Most of the spells I made up with the help of a Latin translator and my imagination.**


	2. Draco

**Disclaimer: This fanfiction is based on the characters and situations created by J.K. Rowling, and belongs to her, several publishers including but not limited Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, Carlsen Verlag and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made with this and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.**

**Beta reader: Much thanks to Iriya!**

**Chapter 2- Draco**

Draco could not suppress the gasp that surged past his lips when he heard the Professor announce that he turned Potter into a vampire. Rumours had always run rampant among the students that the Potions professor was a dark being, but that was just one of many bits of gossip that was spread about the acrimonious man. Now, here Draco was, witness to the declaration that not only was the rumour true, but he had also infected the bleeding Saviour of the Wizarding World!

Draco stealthily sat himself up straighter in the bed, leaning back against the metal bars that served as a headboard. He laid back, perching his head closer to the top edge of the half wall that separated the infirmary into two sections of two rows of beds. The other occupants of the room could not see him in bed and seemed to have forgotten that he was there at all.

"Who could do such a thing?" wailed the nurse. Draco could hear her robes shuffle with her agitated movement.

"Poppy, it looks that all evidence points to it being an attack by a Death Eater," the Headmistress said sadly, a frown heard in her low voice.

"They've left their calling cards all over the boy," Snape said sourly.

Draco heard the mediwitch gasp. "My goodness! They've burned the Dark Mark right into him!" she exclaimed in clear distress. "I don't know if the burn healing paste you brew for the Hospital Ward is strong enough to cover up burns that deep, Severus."

Draco clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his own exclamation at the news. _Death Eaters? In Hogwarts? _he thought with building trepidation. It was well known that Hogwarts' wards were nearly impenetrable; Death Eaters could not get in without the Headmistress knowing about it. That must mean it was a student or one of the teachers. He wrapped his arms around himself to hold in a shiver as images from the past flooded his mind.

Over the past two and a half years, he had become quite familiar with the brutality of Death Eaters. It had been the most frightening and eye-opening time of his live. He had received the "honour" of bearing the Dark Mark, while underage and under crushing pressure from the Dark Lord and his parents, before his sixth year. It had been burned into his forearm and, as he would come to see it, forever marked him as a slave to a megalomaniacal maniac.

His whole life, he had seen Lord Voldemort's band of followers as more of an elite club of sorts, where the most select and privileged wizards gather and make plans for the betterment of the wizarding world. Yes, he had been aware of and well acquainted with their use of the Dark Arts and taking the law into their own hands, but Draco had always been told that they had been driven to it by those low and unworthy families who opposed their inherent right to power as ancient and noble pureblood families.

He had never truly realised what Death Eaters did and when he finally experienced it, experienced what duties his father performed for the Dark Lord and the atrocities he carried out in his name, what he had been doing for decades, he was crushed, disillusioned, and traumatised. By then, however, the Dark Lord was ensconced in his home, their name and influence had diminished severely among the Death Eaters, and the Dark Lord had his eye on him.

Draco remembered well the night he had received his orders from the Dark Lord; kill the headmaster and get the Death Eaters inside of Hogwarts. He knew then it was a suicide mission, punishment for the failures of his father. How could a sixth year student be expected to defeat and kill one of the most powerful wizards alive? At the time, he was still loyal, however, and he did not see as he had any other options anyway. The Dark Lord was headquartered at Malfoy Manor, his parents were virtually held hostage under his thumb. He would complete his mission to the best of his ability to bring pride and distinction to the Malfoy name, even if it meant his life.

By the end of the Great Battle, however, both he and his family knew there would be no saving their names, reputations, or their hides. His father had claimed to have only followed Voldemort after being placed under the Imperius Curse after the last fall of Voldemort, and it would not be an excepted excuse this time, especially now that all three of the Malfoys had taken part in the activities.

To Draco, the Battle of Hogwarts was simply the event that marked the time his life had reached a whole new level of horror. The dead had been gathered in the Great Hall, their bodies laid out side by side on the ancient stone floor. Their families and friends gathered around them, some roamed from body to body in search of missing loved ones. In the midst of the calamity, the Malfoys had huddled at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, relishing the fact that they had survived and where together.

As the confusion died down in the hall, sorrow and grief began to turn into anger and vengeance as everyone awoke from the shock of what happened and Draco and his family began to be noticed. Suddenly a call was raised across the room.

"YOU KILLED MY DAUGHTER! MURDERERS! DEATH EATER SCUM!" The screams of the irate woman faded away into incoherent sobs.

The stifling silence that filled the massive hall pierced Draco's consciousness with a growing prickling of dread.

And then, seemingly as one, the crowd of mourners turned to face the Slytherin table. The Malfoys were not the only former Death Eaters at the table or in the room, but they were the most prominent and recognizable – a feature that, until now, was only a source of pride to the arrogant family. The crowd rushed at them, drawing their wands seemingly as one, and prepared to exact their revenge. His father, acting quickly, pushed Draco off his chair and under the table, his mother following after.

From under the table Draco could see the crowd trying to get at them but they were held back by another group of people consisting of various good Samaritans. They tried to soothe the enraged crowd and urged them not to be too hasty. "If we did this, we'd be no better then them," they kept saying.

Immediately Aurors swarmed the Great Hall. Most helped with crowd control while others began to round up the few Death Eaters who had not bothered to run. Draco watched his father's legs disappear from under the table as he was dragged away. His mother was grabbed around the waist and hauled from her hiding spot next to him, her eyes wide with fear and her hands reaching out to him. Draco was yanked up from under the table by the hair, his wand taken from him, and then bound in ropes.

It would be the last time he was to see either of his parents.

Professor Snape's deep voice called him back to the situation at hand. "I have some stronger batches of burn salve back in my quarters," he responded grimly. "Besides, I believe the changes that will occur once the transformation takes place will heal much of the external damage."

He heard the rustling of sheets and the murmur of a spell. "Minerva, how could this have happened? How could anyone get away with this with all the extra security you and the Ministry have set in place?" the mediwitch inquired.

_That is a very good question_, thought Draco. Draco, unfortunately, was very aware of just how ineffective those extra security measures were. He cradled his arm in his lap. It was still sore, even though the Skele-gro had mended his snapped Ulna and Radius; the result of having been jumped - _again!_ – by a group of vengeful Gryffindors. Yes, Draco was quite acquainted with benefits of those "security measures".

New and stronger wards now encompassed the grounds and surrounded the castle. The entrances to the dormitories were reinforced with stronger wards than ever before, and the entrances to the castle barred the Dark Lords magical signature. No one baring the Dark Mark could enter the premises unless they were specifically keyed into the wards. Both he and Professor Snape, as well as the three or for other former Death Eater students, had had to be keyed into the wards in order to be able to cross through the front gates.

Auror patrols were set up in conjunction with the Ministry. They roamed the halls and the grounds, acting as watchdogs on the lookout for suspicious activity. The Professors and other staff took on strict supervision of the students and inflexible enforcement of the rules. All of the measures were useless against someone who was determined to get around them.

After he had been released from Azkaban, he had hoped to escape the perils of being a former Death Eater in a post-Voldemort world; hoped that he could find sanctuary at the school, even when he knew it was just a fantasy. The actuality of the situation was confirmed the moment he reached platform 9¾. A powerful Stinging Hex was cast his way. The perpetrator had been, unfortunately, shielded by the hustle of the crowd and therefore remained unknown to him. The Aurors that sauntered up and down the platform, were supposed to be watching for trouble. They had watched him drop, holding his stomach, pain blooming in his abdomen and his regal features contorted in distress. Noting that it was a Malfoy, and therefore no one particularly undeserving or of any importance, they looked on with indifference before turning away completely.

It had been no less than he had expected. After the Battle, he and his parents had been imprisoned in Azkaban. He had sat in his cell for weeks, hearing no news from the outside world and nothing about his parents or their trial. The Ministry rushed to try the most prominent Death Eaters, the most bloodthirsty of the Dark Lord's inner circle, including the Lestranges, the Carrows, Professor Snape, and, of course, the Malfoys.

After a month spent wasting away in the dark and dingy cell, he had been taken to trial. There, he threw his Malfoy pride to the wind and begged for the mercy of the Wizengamot. He would not survive Azkaban and he knew it. With the help of Professor Snape – who had previously been acquitted of the murder of Professor Dumbledore after a viewing of Pensieved memories of their planning his death and his actions after - as well as his testimony regarding his knowledge of Draco's moral struggle with the assignment to kill Professor Dumbledore and the fact that he was truly a child pressured into taking the Mark, he was released.

He had lived the rest of the summer, alone and grieved, at Malfoy Manor. His parents, some of the firsts to be convicted after a short but damning trial, were not so lucky. His father had been Kissed before he could even say good bye to him. The pillar of strength and head of the family was gone from his life. His beloved and beautiful mother was sentenced to rot away for life in Azkaban, a leniency only afforded after Potter had testified that she had saved him from certain death in the Forbidden Forest. Draco had roamed the halls of his childhood home, alone and afraid, whispering to the ghosts of what had been.

That did not shelter him from the outside world, however. The wizarding world, released from the hold of terror that the Dark Lord had over them, lashed back at all those who were publicly ousted as supporters. Every day, owls swooped in with howlers, hexed packages, and cursed objects. The Daily Prophet regularly blasted his name in the paper, calling for his punishment or imprisonment. On the rare times when he left the Manor, he was openly attacked by bitter victims of Death Eaters or their families. He had very few champions. Everyone had deserted him.

"Gracious, I just don't know. We have employed every security measure we could to keep the students safe," the Headmistress said bleakly, before seeming to perk up as an idea struck her. "Severus, I assume you are going to take him to your quarters during his period of transformation?"

"Yes, Minerva, and thereafter. I will be needing the time out of class to care for him. He will be vulnerable during his change and I need to be there as his Sire," he answered.

"Yes, of course," Professor McGonagall nodded absently and sighed in resignation. "Well, that will certainly take care of his security while he recuperates."

Draco wondered what kind of transformation Potter would go through. They had learned a little bit about vampires in their third year Defense Against the Dark Arts class with that werewolf Lupin, but it was mainly about how to defeat one, not the particulars about the species.

That was also something to think about. He did not really know how he felt about Potter being turned like that. He did know that he certainly found no enjoyment out of the fact that he was nearly beaten to death, not anymore. Now he would be just as outcast as Draco, for being a vampire. He wondered if his status as The Defender of the Light would save him from the treatment he would normally receive now that he was a vampire. _Hmph_, he thought, rolling his eyes, _of course it will_. _The bloody idiot will probably make it into the new craze. All the most fashionable wizards and witches will just _have_ to become vampires, or else risk being shown up by their friends_.

He had to admit it though, he was just a little worried for Potter. Only a little. A miniscule amount, really. Barely even worth thinking about. Potter had kind of become the only person that was even remotely nice to him who was not employed by the school (and therefore was required to be at least civil to him).

He recalled that first week back in school. His fellow students, right down to the first years, were unrelenting in their torture of him. He was not the only one, but he seemed to have been made into the symbol of all Death Eaters at the school with the constant press of his trial over the summer, so he was targeted more than the others. Tripping Hexes, Stinging Hexes, Jelly-Legs Jinxes, being petrified and left in broom cupboards, and covering him in painful boils, were only a little of what he had endured from the students every day. All of this happening under the "watchful eye" of teachers, staff, and Aurors. The Weasel especially loved to lob a Slug Vomiting Charm at him at every chance he got, all while grinning brutishly, enjoying the chance his broken wand had botched in second year.

By the end of the month, Draco was tired, sore, lonely, and severely depressed. He was barely able to make himself get up for classes, just wishing to sleep away the day and escape the hell that had become his life. But he did not dare. Not only would it be the beyond ill-advised to leave himself so vulnerable- sleeping in the dormitory while others were awake and mischievous- but it was also a sign of weakness. Professor Snape was already keeping an eye out for him- after a particularly malicious attack by a group of fourth years, who spelled his bed full of angry venomous snakes one night- and he had taken to bursting into tears recently; he hardly needed to give anyone anymore reason to find him weak and prey on him.

One day, after the morning's Ancient Runes class, he had rushed to escape the busy hallways, where the stampeding children offered the perfect amount of noisy activity to cover up a good hex sent Draco's way. He ran through the corridors that emptied as the student body moved to the Great Hall for lunch.

Finally he had reached the deserted classroom on the sixth floor he had discovered earlier in the week to escape the attacking hoards. It had obviously been quite some time since anyone had come to this part of the castle. Cobwebs decorated the ceilings and the paintings were nearly covered in dust. Old, musty, and broken furniture had been precariously stacked against the walls. He perched himself on a dusty window ledge and looked forlornly out at the lake, hiccupping back the desperate sobs that wanted to break from his throat, tears sliding down his cheeks from glistening grey eyes.

The room was dank and dark just like his life had become. Never in his life had he been considered anything but superlative and deserving of the best, but now everyone was against him. Last year, he had practically run this school as a Death Eater whose father was in the Dark Lord's inner circle. Now he wandered deserted hallways like another nameless ghost.

He was startled out of his desolate thoughts by the door swinging open. Draco snapped around, raising his wand in a defensive posture. He had learned through repeated experience to never assume anyone was friendly and never leave your back to them.

Standing at the door was Potter. He pressed himself to the door, as if he was trying to keep something out. Potter blinked stupidly at him, before appearing to gather what wits he had about him. He focused on Draco, who continued to stand ready for battle.

"You alright?" he asked in a hesitant voice.

"Wh-what?" Draco asked, his voice watery with tears. At the sound of his voice he remembered he had been crying and hurriedly wiped his tear stained face with the back of his hand. _How humiliating! Caught crying like a child by Potter of all people! _he thought, breaking his self-imposed rule and turning his back to the boy across the room in an effort to save his dignity. Potter may be many things, but he had never been a bully. He had not done or said anything to Draco since they had been back so he was not worried about being attacked.

"You mind if I hide out here with you for a while? Those people just won't leave me alone!" Potter said, mercifully diverting attention from Draco's tears.

Draco snorted. Since his defeat of the Dark Lord the previous spring, Potter had been hounded by the wizarding world, chasing him around like a celebrity. Draco had watched from the shadows as day after day he was bombarded by desperate students (and the occasional house-elf) who asked for autographs, pictures, kisses, or dates from the famous Boy-Who-Lived.

"Poor, Potter. It must be so hard to be hoisted on a pedestal as one of the greatest wizards in history. What's wrong? Getting tired of your little fan club?" he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the window again, pressing his forehead against the chilled window in hopes that the cold would sooth his tear-swollen face.

"Yeah, I guess so," Potter sighed and sunk into an old unused desk. "So… _are_ you alright?"

Draco turned and looked at him, studying his face and measuring his sincerity. He would have never dreamed of having a civil conversation with Potter before this year, but he was so lonely and so depressed it was a relief to think that someone actually wanted to listen.

Draco was desperate for a sympathetic ear and once he started talking, the flood gates could not be shut until every sorrow he had was out. He tried to maintain as much of his dignity as he could while tearfully describing his troubles to Potter, who sat quietly listening, commenting with the occasional sympathetic sound.

Potter sat with Draco for hours, both missing several of their afternoon classes, speaking in hushed tones to each other. When they had finally exhausted everything they had to say, they parted company, with not just a little awkwardness. The next day at lunch, however, both seemed to find themselves back in that deserted classroom. Draco would never say so, but in the month that followed, he had come to see that hour of lunch as the best part of his day… even if it was Potter he spent it with.

In the Infirmary, Madame Pomfrey sighed loudly. "Well, that's all I can do for him right now. He needs to rest before I start on the non-life-threatening injuries. To much magical healing at once causes such a drain on one's magical core, that it is sometimes worse than none at all." Draco heard the sounds of the mediwitch fluffing Potter's pillow and adjusting his bedclothes.

"It would seem a good rest would do us all some good," Professor McGonagall exhaled tiredly, before taking her leave. "Let me know if there are any changes. Poppy. Severus."

Draco heard the creak of a chair being sat in and the rustle of the mediwitch's long robes as she moved passed him, on the other side of the wall, and toward her quarters on the far side of the room. He settled back down in his bed, as quietly as he could with the use of only one arm.

He closed his eyes and let out a silent sigh as he relaxed against his pillow to ponder the events he just witnessed. Opening his eyes, he gasped, startled out of his reverie by the appearance of a tall, menacing figure standing over his bedside in the dark.

"Mr. Malfoy, I take it you had an enthralling night?" Professor Snape inquired lowly, glaring intently at him.

"Um. Yes, sir. Sorry, sir," Draco said, not just a little intimidated.

"I trust that you have the brains to use a bit of the discretion that I know has been invested in that pointy head of yours. I also trust you know that the consequences, if you choose to forego the use of discretion in this matter, will be…_severe_," Snape sneered down at him, a deadly ice in his voice.

"Yes, Professor," Draco responded breathlessly.

"Good." The professor gave him one last forbidding glare before moving away. "Goodnight, Mr. Malfoy."

"Goodnight, Professor," Draco called hoarsely.


	3. Healing Wounds

**Disclaimer: This fanfiction is based on the characters and situations created by J.K. Rowling, and belongs to her, several publishers including but not limited Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, Carlsen Verlag and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made with this and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.**

**Beta reader: Much thanks to Iriya!**

**Chapter 3- Healing Wounds**

Snape glared down at the prone body on the bed as he reseated himself in the uncomfortable bedside chair. He could kick himself. By the time he had realised there was someone else in the infirmary, he had already made a scene and the damage was done. Fortunately, he was pretty sure he put a stopper on Draco's notoriously big mouth with his little bedside chat, though; he doubted he would have said anything in this instance. Though there was little he could do about it, it had not gone unnoticed by his Head of House how isolated the young Malfoy had become.

It was a good thing too. He would hate to have to follow through with those "consequences" he had threatened with. He was Potter's Sire; it was now his duty to protect his Childe with his life, and if that meant eliminating a threat to their secret, even if it was a student in his own House, he would do it.

The bond created by turning someone was one of the strongest that could be forged without magic. He could already feel the boy's blood rush through him. The pull to fold his battered body into his arms was already becoming overwhelming, but he settled with gently washing away the dried blood from the boy's skin.

He had never been a Sire before; never turned another like this. The only time he had belonged to a coven was still a teenager, with his own Sire. He had been a fellow Death Eater. They had received their marks at the same time and had often worked together on potions for their Master. He was later killed by the Dark Lord. Since then, Snape had lived his life feeling empty, suffering from the lack of his Sire or any coven for decades.

Vampires were not meant to be solitary. It was the nature of the beast, so to say; one vampire must turn and bond with another, otherwise there would be no more vampires. It was the only way to create one as vampirism was not hereditary.

He was already feeling whole with his Childe's blood within him. It was a feeling he had almost forgotten. Despite Dumbledore's acceptance of him to their cause, the old man would not allow him to form a coven. The Light was just like everyone else, full of uneducated prejudice against magical beings in general and vampires specifically.

Snape looked down at his Childe and grimaced. He _would_ bond himself for eternity to Harry Potter, of all people. He knew it would be a trial. The boy was the most aggravating child he had ever come across in his many years of teaching and, as his protector, he could not ignore that fact that he had a penchant for getting into life endangering situations every year like it was bloody his job! He could not regret this turn of events, however. It felt good to have someone to take care of, someone to be close to, even if it was Potter.

Perhaps it would not be so bad. They had come to a small unspoken agreement in the beginning of the year. After Potter had witnessed the attack by Nagini, Snape, thinking he was dying, gave up his most precious memories of the love of his life and revealing the depth of his loyalties to the boy. Potter, however, saved his life by quickly getting help, and Snape's ire had lessened… somewhat.

With a nod in his direction on the night of the Welcome Feast, Potter recognised the lengths his hated professor had gone to assist him with his quest to destroy Horcruxes, as well as the innumerable times throughout his time at Hogwarts that the man saved his life. With a return nod, the Potions professor acknowledged the fact that Potter had literally sacrificed his life to rid the world of Lord Voldemort and then stood up and proceeded to kill the damned monster once and for all, thereby giving more to the cause than even Snape could claim.

That did not mean they got along by any means. It was just fuelled by mutual dislike instead of outright hate. The Potions professor still handed the boy detentions like they were candy, and the Potter boy still glared resentfully at his least favourite teacher.

Snape wondered if one day they could grow to tolerate each other. Sharing a bond did not compel them to love or even like each other. They would always be close, need to be with each other, feel each other near, but perhaps they would learn to appreciate each other on a more personal level.

He knew he would not have too much trouble with the boy. The Sire/Childe relationship was of a dominant/ submissive nature. Just as Snape felt compelled to protect and provide, Potter would instinctually yield to his Sire, in order for him to be best safeguarded. Potter would still be the irritating and headstrong boy he had always been, but he would surrender if Snape wished it so. He hoped so. He really did not want to be miserable for the rest of his life, especially when his life had only just become bearable again.

He wiped the last bit of dried blood from the boy's delicate body. He frowned. The boy was much too small. Thinking back, he realised that the boy had always been smaller than his year mates. Though, he appeared to be filling out now, there were obvious signs of long term malnutrition. _How could this be?_ he wondered as he got up in search for a jar of healing paste. He knew for a fact that Dumbledore always sent a large stipend to his muggle relatives to take care of the boy.

He dug through the well-stocked potions cabinet, searching for the healing balm. He grabbed the small yellow jar of Murtlap Essence. It was a mild enough solution that it would not interact too much with the magic already used to heal his more life threatening injuries.

He returned to the bedside and uncapped the jar. He spread it over the multiple cuts, gashes, and rips in the skin. It would not heal the deeper abrasions, but it would make sure they would not get infected while they waited for his magical core to restore.

Finally, when he was done, he banished away the cloths he used to clean the boy and the bloodied sheets he lay on. Still naked, Snape charmed the light sheets with a Warming spell and tucked Potter in.

The first weak rays of the morning sun began to peak through the large stained glass windows and Snape really wished he had been able to have an extra cup of his coffee last night. Tiredly, he got up from his post, despite the pull to stay by his Childe's bedside, and made his way out of the infirmary. The boy would not wake for some time and Madam Pomfrey would be waking and making rounds soon. He had time to go visit the Headmistress.

He made his way to the Headmaster's tower. The gargoyle jumped out of his way to reveal the revolving staircase. Headmistress McGonagall did not see the use of making people give a password to the gargoyle to gain access to her office. Dumbledore's game of using predictable (if not widely known) passwords just to be able to knock at his door and see if he was in, was deemed dangerous by the new Headmistress. If someone needed her, it would be detrimental to have to stand at the gargoyle, guessing what that password would be.

Snape knew how much fun Dumbledore had had in making up new passwords, and it was not without a bit of nostalgia that he ascended the stone steps. He sneered at himself for being a sentimental ninny.

After knocking, the door swung open to reveal a tired and dishevelled McGonagall at work at her desk.

"Morning, Severus," she greeted wearily.

"Good morning, Minerva. Do you have time to discuss the Potter situation?" Snape asked, sitting gracefully and crossing his long legs in the comfortable brown leather chairs that had replaced Dumbledore's old squashy ones. He gratefully accepted the invigorating cup of tea and shortbread the Headmistress summoned to her desk.

After taking her own fortifying gulp of the hot tea, she sighed and pursed her thin lips, setting down her cup with a light clink. She interlocked her fingers in front of her, in the way she did when she meant business.

"Yes, the Potter situation. I'm afraid that when I assumed the Headmaster position, I neglected to look into the information Dumbledore gathered on vampirism. There was the task of repairing the damage done to the castle and getting the school ready for the upcoming school year to occupy my time, and I presumed it wouldn't be an issue. I figured that if Dumbledore trusted you, then your condition wasn't relevant." She gave him a friendly smile.

Snape barely held in a sneer. She spoke as if she could not trust him on his own merits, and his "condition" as she called it, was some kind of sickness. Still, he was used to such treatment and she clearly did not mean it to offend, as so many did, so he maintained his stoic mask and let her continue.

"I'm afraid I don't know exactly what has occurred or if there is anything we need to do for Mr. Potter."

Snape braced his elbows on the chair's armrests and folded his hands in his lap. "Suffice it to say that in the act of turning Potter, I have forged a bond with him. It is a bond akin to the more common magically bonded marriage, because we have exchanged blood. It cannot be dissolved and has similar features to a magically bound marriage, such as need for physical closeness."

McGonagall looked startled. "Oh my. I did not know it was so deep as that," she admitted incredulously.

"Indeed," Snape allowed. "As for the various allowances needed for Potter, he will be living with me from now on. The house elves will be needed to be notified of his change in diet, something I am willing to do for you. As for the rest, I will be there to teach him our ways and inform him of the changes to his body and instincts."

"Changes to his body?" McGonagall inquired. "I thought he would just grow sharp teeth. And what do you mean changes to his diet? Will he be dangerous?"

This time Snape could not keep the sneer form his face, even if he wanted to. "No he will not be dangerous! We are not the mythic monsters most purport us to be!" he snarled.

"I apologise, Severus. I did not mean to offend," Professor McGonagall said, looking chastised, but quickly returned to the conversation at hand. "Now, just what changes are you talking about?"

Snape huffed, getting his anger back under control. "The mixing of our blood will transform his entire body. It will become healthier, fitter. His senses will become enhanced and become near super human. His magic will increase. Of course, he will also develop his blood teeth, as well, and be able to drink blood, which he will crave."

McGonagall looked distinctly ill at this. "And you have ways of curbing these craving I take it?" she asked. She was careful not to offend the temperamental man, but was still concerned about her student's welfare, living with vampires.

"Of course," he gave her an impatient look. "There are many potions to help, most of which are of my own development, as well as including more meats among other things." He was not going to divulge every aspect to the woman. She already looked distressed as it was. The rest he would discuss with Potter when the time came.

Minerva sighed deeply, as if the world were on her shoulders. She had hoped this would not ruin Harry's life, but it did not look so good to her. The boy had been through so much and was finally able to lead a relatively normal life, with the destruction of Voldemort. She would do anything to help one of her favourite lions out. "Is there anything I can do? Anything you need from me?"

Snape gave a curt nod. "Indeed. The transformation occurs in three stages. The first is the Period of Healing. He is in that stage now, where the blood he ingested circulates in his body and prepares it for the next stage; the Period of Transformation. This stage is when he changes physically. It is a painful process that occurs over several days, for him particularly, as it appears he is not in great health to begin with. The last is the Period of Bonding, in which we develop and strengthen the bond between us. I estimate that the entire process will take around two weeks, the whole of which I will need to be there with him."

"I will take over your classes for you," the Headmistress offered.

"Thank you, Headmistress. I have lesson plans for the term in the desk in my office."

"What would you like me to tell everyone?" McGonagall asked.

Snape rubbed a finger over his pursed lips in thought. "As it will not be only me that will be absent, we will need to come up with an excuse for Potter as well, and it will not go unnoticed that he will be living with me in my quarters. I suggest we stick to the truth as close as possible. Let us say that Potter and I have married and are on our honeymoon," he could not help but roll his eyes at this saccharine ritual, "for the duration of our absence."

"Yes, that would appear to be the best explanation," McGonagall agreed. "Though, I don't see how Mr. Potter's friends will ever believe he went into it willingly."

"Then perhaps we shall say that it was forced upon him. We shall say that I called in a life debt and demanded we marry," Snape suggested.

McGonagall nodded. "That sounds plausible."

Snape sat up quickly as an idea struck him. "What of his attackers? We cannot let them know that he is alive. If they are still within the school and know that he still lives and can inform us of their identities, they may escape, or worse, attempt to harm others."

The Headmistress looked distressed, smoothing her hands back over her greying black hair, tightly tied back into a low bun. "You are right, Severus. We will need to keep this quiet. For now we will simply say that you are away for personal reasons and simply stay quiet about Mr. Potter."

She let out an exasperated sigh. "Heaven help me when I have to answer to Mr. Weasley. The boy will probably drive me mad by the end of the fortnight!"

Snape sympathised. Sometimes it took all of his restraint not to slap the thick-headed, slack-jawed Neanderthal that was the youngest Weasley boy.

His entwined fingers grew white as his grip tightened. The urge to be with his Childe was growing, knowing someone wanted him dead. Finally having enough, he rose from his seat. "If you have no further inquiries, I believe I will return to the infirmary, Headmistress."

"Oh, yes, Severus. Please do, the poor boy," she waved him away wearily.

HPSSHPSSHPSS

Harry sighed as he came back to consciousness and hummed in contentment as strong fingers combed through his hair. He leaned into the warmth that he was lying on. He could feel a muscular thigh pillowing his head and the movement of the firm belly that he pressed his face into, moving in and out with each breath.

The hand strayed from his hair down to rest on his chest, the pleasant feeling pushing away distant remembrances of pain and helplessness to the back of mind. He opened his eyes to see whose wonderful hands were bringing him such comfort.

There was nothingness.

His breath hitched and he lifted his hands to his face, attempting to get whatever was blocking his sight, off. There was nothing there except smooth and tender healing scars. _Oh God!_

He let out a distressed sound and his heart nearly exploded as it raced in fear. He could not hear his own voice properly. It sounded as if he were deep underwater. His voice sounded distant and he could hear nothing else at all.

He tried to sit up but the strong hands that had comforted him, held him down. His efforts had done enough, however, and a deep throbbing pain ripped through his entire body. He cried out in pain and fear, tears burning his eyes and running down his cheeks.

Those hands wrapped around his chest and pulled him up onto the lap which had cradled his head only moments before, tucking him into a strong chest and pushing his face into a warm neck. With one hand holding him tight and rubbing his back, the other was braced at the nape of his neck. It tilted his chin, bearing his neck. A hot, wet tongue swiped across his jugular. The spot was tender, but the tongue felt really good. He instantly calmed, something deep inside him telling him that this person would never hurt him and he would be safe, even as vulnerable and scared as he was.

His panic gone, he rested. Draped over this person and completely at ease, he started to be able to think clearly. He could not hear or see. He assumed he could still talk, as he had been able to yell out, so at least he would not be completely without a way to communicate. Their chests were pressed together and he was held tightly by those strong hands, so he could tell that this was a man. He sniffed back his tears. The man smelled of herbs and earth, with a hint of the distinctly foul smell that clung to the Potions classroom after his cauldron exploded.

He stiffened. _No way!_

Harry raised himself from the man's chest and felt his way up the man's neck. He ran his fingers over the man's face. He had an angled jawline and thin lips. His nose was bent and somewhat crooked and his brow was furrowed. Moving to the top of his head, Harry ran his fingers through long, and surprisingly soft hair. There was no doubt about it.

"Professor Snape?" he whispered.

The man put his hand over Harry's, directed it back down to his cheek, and nodded.

Tears began to gather in his eyes again. "I'm blind!" he announced, his throat aching in his effort to keep himself from sobbing. He felt Snape nod again.

Tears spilled over his cheeks and he drew a ragged breath. "Forever?" he asked with a scared whisper.

He felt Snape shake his head.

"How long?" realising he wouldn't be able to get an answer to that, he added, " A day?"

Snape shook his head.

"A week?"

Snape nodded and he then sobbed in relief.

"What's going on?" Harry cried, not really expecting an answer. There was no way his professor could explain it to him.

Snape let out a sigh. He had hoped Potter would wake up before his transformation started. He could only imagine how scared the boy must be, waking up to find he was blind and deaf. After Poppy had come around and finished casting her healing spells this morning, aided by the boy's new healing ability, he was well enough to be moved, and he had rushed to get his Childe back to the safety of his personal quarters.

If only he had had a chance to explain to the boy, and it was only going to get worse. The delicate organs that enable the senses of sight and hearing were changing first, as it usually took longer to strengthen and fine tune the intricate structures. His sense of smell would go next. Then the pain would begin. It would be extra hard on the boy, due to his existing injuries and the malnutrition.

Suddenly, the boy froze, his body trembling in his embrace.

"Oh, God," he intoned. "Oh, God!"

Snape's heart raced. Was his Childe already in pain?

"Snape!" Potter screamed much too loud next to his ear, unable to judge the volume of his voice. "Snape, Nott, he… Oh, God! It hurt so much!"

Snape drew him back from his chest and placed his hand on his cheek, letting the boy know he was listening.

"Nott. It was Nott! He…" the boy whimpered, unable to put into words what had happened to him. Snape nodded into his hand, letting him know that he understood.

Snape knew that the elder Nott had been Kissed just this summer, and that only left his son Theodore. He closed his eyes in anguish. He had hoped all the students involved with the Death Eaters had been weeded out, and it never got any easier to see his snakes fall to the dark side.

His protective instincts kicked in, however. He licked at Potter's bite mark, again. It calmed the boy back down and reinforced the feeling of protection. So Nott was the one who thought he could hurt his Childe. As soon as he was able to, he would make sure the boy understood just how badly he had screwed up. He could not let the boy live if he was threat to his Childe's life.

He cursed the fact that he could not go out and tear him apart right now. It would be so easy to rend his arms from his body and leave the sniveling boy in the middle of the Great Hall to drown in a pool of his own blood. That was not an option, however. He would never risk it. It would mean Azkaban if was caught, and that meant leaving his Childe. He could never risk it, especially in the condition he was in. They would both suffer without the other there to fill the gaping voids within.

Then there was the rather less important fact that if he did that, he would lose his job. People generally did not take too kindly to vampires on murderous rampages. Not that he would particularly care anymore. He had no reason to stay, now that the war was over. He would not mourn being rid of snot-nosed brats who blundered their way through the fine art of potions making.

No, it now became his duty to remain in good standing at Hogwarts. As the boy's Sire, he had to be able to keep Potter safe and comfortable. That meant that he had to stay within the school wards. It also meant that he would have to play nice with his fellow teachers and the Headmistress in order to maintain favourable relationships. Relationships, he could use, power he could hold over them to gain get what he wanted and needed for his Childe.

He licked more at the boy's bite mark, enjoying the salty taste of his soft skin. Potter slumped in his lap, resting his head against his shoulder. The boy's energy was still not restored to normal, his body not completely healed yet, and he fell back into a healing sleep.

Snape sat on his couch with his Childe in his arms. The boy was now the most precious person in his life, his existence was now only for Harry Potter. Unconsciously, he stroked up and down his small, bony back, and he began to form a plan of revenge.


	4. Time of Great Change

**Disclaimer: This fanfiction is based on the characters and situations created by J.K. Rowling, and belongs to her, several publishers including but not limited Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, Carlsen Verlag and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made with this and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.**

**Beta reader: Much thanks to Iriya!**

**Chapter 4-Time of Great Change**

Harry woke up gasping in pain, his arms convulsing and swinging out wildly. The muscles of his arms and his right shoulder felt like they were tearing off the bones, they were clenching and unclenching so hard. His fingers contracted of their own volition and his hand curled in towards his wrist and back again. The muscles, tendons, and ligaments popped and jumped. His eyes burned, as if they had cuts on them and his head pounded. He could feel the various organs of his eyes, nose, and ears change and move and transform

"ARRHHGG! S-SNAPE!" Harry cried out. The movement of his arms jerked him around on, what he could feel was a large bed, causing him to stumble over his words. He held his breath letting it out in gasps with the effort not to cry.

He could still neither see nor hear and at that moment truly felt adrift without some sort of anchor, some sort of point of reference to judge the space around him. He wanted to feel someone next to him.

Pain was not unusual. His uncle was not one to be particular about what constituted an offense worthy of a few whacks with the broom handle. Being alone, while dealing with pain, was familiar territory; it had become almost comforting to be locked up and alone, either in his cupboard or Dudley's second bedroom, after a beating. What was truly frightening was the sense of total helplessness and complete vulnerability.

Anything could happen to him. He flinched, thinking he could feel a fist, a spell, a weapon, _something _coming towards him. He imagined that he could feel the displaced air as the object was swung at his face. He could sense the presence of a faceless form of someone standing over him, taunting him, laughing maniacally, wanting to hurt him, enjoying his pain. Uncle Vernon. Voldemort. Nott.

He was trapped, helpless. He remembered only too well the pungent smell of his own burnt flesh, the bite of a dagger digging into his skin. His muscles spasmed and jerked, as if he were still being held under the Cruciatus Curse.

He clenched his teeth and bit back a moan. He had learned long ago it never paid to voice his pain and he did not know where he was or who was around. He did not want to look weak.

Where was Snape? He had only been awake once before but somehow he felt scared that the cantankerous professor was not by his side again. He had never had any reason to expect someone to be there to comfort or attend to him, (excepting Madam Pomfrey's often smothering medical assistance) but when Snape had held him to his chest, he had felt truly safe, possibly for the first time in his life. He had felt the warmth of his body seep into him and chase away the phantom pains of torture. The smell of burning flesh had been replaced by the sharp, spicy odour of fresh Solomon's Seal roots and ground Puffapod seeds.

Quite suddenly, he felt a hand on his chest.

"Sn-nape?" he cried out, much too upset to try and regulate the volume of his voice.

The hand smoothed down his side and around to his back, followed by that other on his other side. He was gathered to a broad chest again. He tried sniffing out the soothing aroma he had come to identify with his professor, but he could smell nothing at all. His nose was stuffed up, as if he suffered from a head cold. His hands not being under his control at the moment, he quickly reached with his face the crook of the person's neck and rubbed his cheeks on the fine silky hair he found there. It was Snape.

The hands smoothed down his back and Harry could feel the peculiar vibrations of the man's deep rumbling voice as he apparently spoke to him. Harry still could not hear his words, but the gentle quivers made him feel slightly better.

Snape looked down at the distressed boy in his arms and scowled at himself. This, the most vulnerable time of his young Childe's life, was a time to develop the strong bonds of trust between them, yet here he was bungling it up right from the start. He had been lured away to his private lab by boredom and missed being there for Potter when he woke up. He cringed when he thought how long the boy could have been awake and panicked in here while he was off stirring potions.

He tipped the boy's head back once he had calmed, rubbing his bite mark lightly and running his thin fingers through his hair. He looked up blindly at the older man with wide, green, unmoving eyes. Those eyes, so like his Lily's, were now clouded over and changing. They would never be Lily's eyes again; instead they would glow bright with power. He had to wonder if he had done the right thing. Should he have risked a life of persecution for the boy or would it have been kinder to let his love's son die?

Right now, it was hard to see this as having been a good idea. Seeing his Childe in such pain was difficult. The boy continued to jerk in his arms, the changing musculature and bone causing his muscles to twist and clench painfully. It would go away soon, but only to move down until the whole body had been enhanced. Luckily he was a Potion's Master and well versed in the healing arts. A nice hot bath and a massage would do the boy wonders.

He shifted the boy to the edge of the bed. He sat him up but had to catch the boy from falling over the side. The reforming of his audial organs was clearly affecting his balance and the boy swayed where he sat. Keeping a strong arm around his waist, he stood the boy up and walked him over to the large bathroom. The boy gave him a questioning look when he sat him on the covered toilet seat. In answer, he brought up a wet hand to the boy's face, after he had started the water in the large tub.

Snape hesitated as he turned back to the seated boy. Potter's arms were not cooperating at the moment and he would have to be undressed. _The boy better not throwh a fit, or else I'll just throw him in, clothes and all_, Snape thought nastily.

Quickly, he reached out and untied his clothes. He was still dressed in the crisp white robe he had been covered with in the hospital ward. Potter turned pink with embarrassment as he was quickly bared, having nothing on underneath, but did not put up a fight. It appeared he understood he could not do it himself.

The professor wrapped his arm back around his waist and led him to the bath tub. The boy stepped in carefully, fighting both his severe vertigo and the slippery tub bottom for balance. Snape noted that the bath would have been a good idea even without the benefits to his aching muscles. He was quite dirty with blood and dirt from being dragged around the floor. He had tried to clean the boy in the hospital wing, but there was only so much Snape could do with just a wet cloth.

Harry laid back in a few inches of water, with silent embarrassment, as his professor cleaned his body gently. He was mortified that the man that held such animosity towards him was the one now tenderly soaping up his privates! He wanted to do it himself, but with his arms splashing haphazardly in the water, he recognised a lost battle when he saw it.

But then again, why _was_ the man doing this? Should he not be in the hospital ward? Where was Madam Pomfrey? Scratch that. It would probably be_ much_ more embarrassing to have her poking around down there. Maybe that was it. Maybe it was because he was the only male capable of taking care of him. On the other hand, the mediwitch never had problems doing this stuff for the other male students.

He cast those thoughts out of his head, or tried to anyway. Snape had nodded when he asked if all this would be over in a week so he figured he would be told then. For now, he settled as much as he could into the near scalding hot water. It was already seeping into his painful muscles and the pain lessening somewhat.

Snape's hand pressed down on his chest and left him. Harry just sat there, soaking, and understood the man wanted him to stay and soak for a while. It was not like he could get out on his own anyway. When he had first tried to sit up, he had been overcome by dizziness. It had felt like the floor and bed beneath him where rolling and dipping, causing him to feel as if he were stepping onto a floor full of holes.

Snape came in a few minutes later and helped him out of the tub. It had felt like it was a big one. He had been able to lay out fully in the few inches of water and his swinging arms had had plenty of space on either side of him. He figured it was a tub that was as big as the ones in the prefect's bathroom, if not bigger.

Snape dried him off, thoroughly, much to his further embarrassment. He was back to the bed and pressed down to lay on his stomach. He tensed, unsure of what the professor was going to do, he had not been dressed or anything.

Unnaturally warm hands descended onto his skin and squeezed his shoulders. The man rubbed his fingers over his neck and he immediately went slack, feeling calm and safe, noting absently that the hands were heated with warmed oil. Professor Snape massaged his trebling muscles, causing Harry to moan out in painful relief. He could feel the recognisable icy-hot feel of Knotgrass, often used to loosen muscles. _Well, looks like I actually_ did_ learn something in your class, Snape_, he thought drowsily.

He sighed as Snape finished and massaged down to his fingers, releasing tension. The shuddering of his muscles lessened somewhat in his neck and shoulders, allowing him more control to keep his arms to his sides.

Snape pressed his nimble fingers into the tightened flesh of the boy's hands. He had brewed a special variation of the massage oil for the boy. It was the normal solution for relaxing muscles but it also contained a bit of Essence of Dittany to heal away his many cuts and scars. He meant to continue the massage down the rest of his scarred body, but was halted by the growl of the boy's stomach.

It was time for the boy's first feeding.

Tapping Potter on the shoulder, the boy turned over. He assisted him to sit up and maneuvered the boy into his lap. Dizziness kept him from remaining upright, so he laid back in his hold, propped up on pillows. Snape tried to ignore the pink dusted across the boy's cheeks, presumably because he was sitting, naked in his professor's lap. It dredged up too many memories of various scenarios he had found in some of the adult literature found in a couple of volumes in his private library.

Like he had done when he had turned Potter, his blood teeth descended and he used them to cut his wrist open, albeit this time, more neatly and far less painfully. The boy's blood teeth had not yet come in and he needed the blood of his Sire to bond fully to him as well as continue his change while keeping him healthy. Without at least a bit of human blood during this sensitive time, he could starve to death.

Everyone who vilified vampires was really worried over nothing. Turning someone was quite an involved process and therefore needed to be an intentional commitment. A simple bite from a vampire would do nothing except drain a little blood, but untold centuries of prejudice was hard to overcome.

Snape lowered his wrist to the boy's lips. The blood dripped into his mouth and he licked at them.

Harry cringed back at the taste of the substance on his lips. Warmth had pressed to his lips and he had licked them on reflex. Disgust automatically rose up at the distinctive metallic taste. It was blood! After the instinctive aversion, however, he hungered for more. He pressed his mouth to the warmth - Snape's arm? – and sucked at it, drinking from it deeply.

The blood flowed freely into his mouth. The taste was indescribable; it was like liquid ambrosia. He could feel the warm liquid go down his throat. When it hit his stomach, warmth radiated throughout his body. He could feel an increase of energy instantly and he moaned loudly at the tingly feeling that spread through him.

Snape watched, fascinated, as the boy sucked at his wrist; his swollen pink lips pressed on the delicate skin. He lifted his arm when the boy had had his fill, an unusually small amount he attributed to his undernourished state, and licked the wound closed. The boy's vigor had caused some of the liquid life to dribble down his chin and neck. Snape dipped his head down and lapped up the delicious blood, licking up the boy's neck, stopping to nibble at his bite mark, and over those blood-plumped lips.

"Mmmm, so good," Potter sighed, at what, the feeding or the professor's ministrations, Snape did not know.

Snape smoothed his still oil slick hand down the boy's stomach, noticing that he was half hard. He slipped his tongue past those lips and tasted the blood after taste. The boy was delicious.

Snape lifted his head as the boy went limp with unconsciousness. He had been up far longer than last time, perhaps he had overtaxed what limited energy he had left, after what was used for his transformation. He lowered the boy in his arms back onto the bed to rub more oil on to his scarred skin and put him back to bed. The next time his Childe woke up, he would be beside him.

HPSSHPSSHPSS

Snape was indeed by his side the next time Potter woke up. It was in the middle of the night and, as his quarters only had the one bed, he was asleep beside the boy when he stirred. The fine trembling in his arms and shoulders had lowered to his chest, back, and stomach muscles. He was awakened once again with the intense pain of the shifting, bulking muscles.

As he had done the day before, Snape carted the boy to soak in a hot bath, this time not hampered as much by dizziness as the twisting and bending of his body by the seizing of the large supportive muscles of the boy's abdomen.

After, he laid Potter on the bed and began the muscle relaxing oil massage. He was able to rub down his whole body, this time, without being interrupted by the boy's grumbling stomach. He would only need to feed on blood once a day and it was still too soon to go again. Despite the fact that Potter was still blind, he kept the torches low and was unable to survey the changes that were occurring to the boy's body.

He rubbed in the special oils, paying close attention to the sensitive and scarring areas. Under Snape's nimble hands, the marks were rapidly fading from his abused skin. He dug his fingers deeply into the quaking flesh of his torso, soothing out as much tension as he could from the rapidly building muscles. He could already feel the sinewy muscle that had appeared on his arms and shoulders, which were now healthier feeling.

Snape joined Potter for a lite breakfast of soft foods, as the boy's teeth were shifting in his mouth to allow the emergence of his blood teeth. After watching carefully as the boy attempted to feed himself through blindness and the dramatic movement of his upper body, they were both ready for more sleep.

The next time Snape woke up, it was late morning. Preparing to dress and summon a House Elf for his morning tea, he noted the boy's newest symptom. He shivered under the thick charcoal coloured bedcovering. His face was flushed with fever and sweat trickled down his forehead and beaded at his upper lip.

He remembered the abominable experience of his own turning. This was the worst part. The excruciating and constant pain of the changing muscles, auditory, visual, and olfactory organs, combined with the fear of being completely cut off from the world with blindness, deafness, and being unable to smell. The fever caused by the reworking of the immune system was just icing on the cake from Hell, made by the Devil himself.

After a few more days of this, the symptoms began to break. The fever broke quickly the next day, followed by the tangible increase of the boy's magic. His body had burned, itched, and tingled as a surge of magic raced from his core to the rest of his body. Snape had been able to feel the crackle of energy when it had occurred. The boy was powerful already, but now… The boy would probably not need to use his wand anymore; the magic would just flow from him easily.

His blood teeth had set the day after that, though he still needed to learn how to retract them. His sense of smell, as the simplest of the five sense, was the first to return, and did so with a gasp of wonder from Potter, the new sensitivity a surprise to him. The boy had alerted Snape to the appearance of shadows in his vision earlier in the afternoon, indicating his sight would soon be coming back as well.

The most pleasing to Snape, however, had been the results of the changes to the boy's body. During his daily massages, he had been able to appreciate his Childe's newly acquired beauty. Running his hands up his thighs, skimming along the tender skin of his ribs, watching him blush as his cock twitched due to the stimulation, Snape gloried in his Childe. His instincts pushed him to sink his teeth into the soft skin and take the boy, but he held back, not willing to harm or scare his Childe. He would not understand, not having known he was turned or that Snape was his Sire.

On the sixth day, Harry dosed on the couch- being blind, deaf and not in control of his limbs meant that there was little else he could do – when he shrieked and nearly jumped off the couch in fright. Snape, who had been reading silently in the chair in front of the fire, dropped his book and stood over the boy before he had consciously thought what he was doing.

"Snape?" he called out, moving his head from side to side as if he were searching for the man and reaching out with his hands. He gasped at the sound of his own voice.

"Snape, I can hear," he exclaimed quietly. He was so used to hearing nothing at all that the sound of his own voice was like a bomb going off. He had been startled badly out of his nap when small popping noises sounded in his ears like gun shots. He blushingly suspected it had simply been the pop and hiss of the fire.

"Is that so, Mr. Potter?" Snape nearly whispered in his deep baritone voice, the sound coming from next to him. Harry reached out and grabbed up his professor's arm. The man had become his only source of comfort and companionship in the past few days, both while riding out the pain and recovering from his vivid nightmares.

"Professor, what the hell is going on? Why am I here? Why have you been taking care of me?" he asked, desperate for answers after what seemed like weeks of being incapacitated with the man that, Harry was sure, hated him more than anyone who was not actively trying to kill him.

"Language, Potter," the professor threatened lowly. He set himself beside the boy on the couch and gathered him into his lap. He had grown to love the feel of his Childe in his arms, where he was safest and most comfortable. "I'm afraid I have some rather distressing news."

"Nott got away?" Harry guessed. He began to tremble in the man's arms, trembling that had nothing to do with the transformation of his musculature, visions of the attack moving through his mind.

"No, I have not dealt with him just yet. He does not know that you are still alive," Snape explained, rubbing his hand over the smaller robe covered chest in front of him, easing the tension that had appeared. "Unfortunately, if it were not for a very drastic action on my part, it would be true. You would be dead."

Harry was silent for a moment, absorbing the professor's words. He had a million questions for the man, but he focused on what the man had just said and asked in a tremulous voice, "What actions?"

Snape took a deep breath, seeming to brace himself for something. Harry was far from comforted by the fact that the man seemed to think he might yell or hit him after receiving his news.

"I believe that you are aware of certain… rumours… that have floated around the student body for several years now," he waited as Harry tentatively nodded against his chest. "They are almost all completely based on nothing more than the rancorous imaginings of resentful students. But one of the rumours happens to be true. I am…a vampire."

Harry stiffened in his embrace and attempted to struggle out of his hold. His musculature was mostly done building and he was much stronger than he had been before. He was stopped, however by the even stronger arms of Snape that locked around him. Snape nuzzled his face to Harry's neck, nosing the boy's bite mark. Harry instantly felt calmed, a feeling of security enveloping the fog of reactionary fear that had risen in his chest.

"Shush, Childe," Snape's silky voice ordered quietly.

"A vampire?" Harry squeaked. Snape nodded and Harry swallowed hard, fearing the answer to his next question. "Wh-what does that have to do with me?"

Snape sighed. "While making my rounds in the corridors, I was met by the rather gruesome discovery of your battered form in the Entrance Hall," Snape ignored Harry's surprised and outraged gasp, "The injuries were extensive and if the blood loss would not have killed you, the shock your body suffered from the trauma would have. If you were to survive, I had no choice but to…Turn you…"


	5. The Way of the Vampire

**This fanfiction is based on the characters and situations created by J.K. Rowling, and belongs to her, several publishers including but not limited Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, Carlsen Verlag and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made with this and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.**

**A/N: I have a Beta-reader! YAY! THANK YOU TO IRIYA!**

**Chapter 5-The Way of the Vampire**

Harry was still, overcome by his professor's words. He was a vampire? A vampire! No matter how many times he repeated it in his head, it sounded no less unreal, no less ridiculous, no less horrifying, and no less incomprehensible.

What did that mean? He went back over what he had learned of vampires in the past. It was not much. Before coming to Hogwarts, he had picked up a few things from films and television programmes he could hear through his cupboard door when Dudley was watching it at the usual wall shaking volume; stakes through the heart, garlic, being undead, turning into bats. He had learned in third year Defense Against the Dark Arts class that they were considered Dark. Though they were the result of people being turned, vampires were considered magical beings, not quite wizards, but not magical creatures like werewolves either. At least they were still considered _human_ - mostly.

He had been distantly aware of the actual existence of vampires since he had entered the wizarding world at the age of eleven, but they had remained an abstract in his mind, having had no actual contact with one. Harry, corrected himself; there was that bloke Sanguini that had shown up to Professor Slughorn's Slug Club Christmas party two years ago, but he had simply been some guy at a party to Harry.

What he did know, however, was that vampires were feared by nearly everyone, wizard and muggle alike. The world saw them as indiscriminant killers, who fed off the blood of innocents.

Harry remembered with a jolt that he had indeed been drinking Snape's blood every day. He thought of the exquisite taste of it on his tongue, the euphoric feeling of magic that radiated through his body, and knew he could not give it up. He ran his tongue over his elongated canine teeth that had been slowly and uncomfortably growing in for the past few days. _Well, now that makes sense_, he thought wryly. Would he resort to attacking people? Would he become a murderous killer, too?

Snape felt the boy begin to hyperventilate against him after a few minutes watching the emotions that flickered across his face while he was lost in his thoughts.

"Potter!" he snapped, effectively startling the idiotic boy out of his daze. "Calm down."

"I'm a vampire!" the boy screeched needlessly.

"Indeed," Snape drawled, back in his element, now that the boy was quickly reminding his professor how irritating he could be.

"You killed me!" Potter accused, sitting up and away from Snape, scurrying as far as he could in his blind state.

Snape glared, despite the fact that the idiot child could not see him. "Of course I did not _kill_ you, you idiot child! Being a vampire does not mean you are dead!"

Potter flushed in agitation.

"But…"

"Would you be breathing if you were dead? Would your heart be beating, circulating the blood that is currently filling your indignant face as we speak if you were dead? Would you have been able to heal from your injuries IF YOU WERE DEAD?"

Potter cringed back at the loudness of his voice. A pang of guilt went through Snape. He had been there, in Potter's place, before and knew how sensitive the boy's hearing was right now, and it did not help that his instincts were yelling at him for harming his Childe and the only way to fix it was to pull him to him and soothe it away.

After he calmed himself, he explained.

"I am not a mindless killer. Despite the rubbish the general public would have you believe, being a vampire does not mean that I am bloodthirsty or ruled by anything other than my own strictly controlled faculties. Most of the things one hears about vampires are falsehoods resulting from that special combination of fear and ignorance, and are based on little to no truths," he paused, the corner of his lips twitching. "I suppose I just got lucky and ended up looking like the popular image of a vampire."

Potter nodded on the other end of the couch, seeming to contemplate his words.

"That is not, to say, that I could not, of course. There are some vampires that make it their mission to instill fear in the hearts of those unencumbered with the mantle of vampirism, but one must remember that there are good people and there are bad people as it is in every species. For every Dumbledore there is a Lord Voldemort. For every Remus Lupin there is a Fenrir Greyback."

Potter's face turned sad, most likely at the mention of two of the people he had lost in the war, the losses still raw despite the passage of time. Snape was sure it helped that the two others mentioned were Kissed or dead, as well.

"There is also the occasional accident, more often than not perpetrated by the newly turned Childe who overindulged without the benefit of the guidance of their Sire."

Potter perked up at this.

"Sire, sir?"

"The Sire is the vampire that has turned a person into another vampire. The newly turned vampire is then called the Sire's Childe. Indeed," he interrupted, went it appeared the boy was going to say something, "that means that I am your Sire and you are my Childe. It is an eternal bond that has been forged between us, wherein I, as the Sire, take on many responsibilities and in return you, as the Childe, take on reciprocal responsibilities. It is quite a complicated progression, which is why there are so few vampires out there."

Potter gaped, and Snape had to concentrate to ignore the attractive blush that was sprinkled across the boys cheeks.

"A bond, sir? What do you mean by that?"

Snape explained the all-encompassing nature of the bond to the boy. He answered questions as patiently as he could muster, ignoring the increasing alarm that he could see on the boy's face. He understood the boy's distaste at being bound to his nasty professor, but really! It was not as if this was the best situation for him either. He was a teacher who married a student, a former Death Eater who fell in love with the shining knight of the Light –as far as the public would see it.

"The bond forged by turning another molds to the participants involved. For example, if you were a child I undoubtedly would feel less a marital and more of a parental bond towards you," Snape explained.

"So, for all intents and purposes, we are married?" Potter questioned with alarm. _Oh, Ginny's gonna _kill _me when I turn up married!_

"Indeed," Snape intoned, glaring and daring the boy to say something insulting. He had saved the boy's life, and had not even got a thank you out of it!

Suddenly a thought struck Harry.

"What do you mean by _eternal_ bond?"

Snape looked at him as if he were stupid.

"It means just that. We are bonded until death, and seeing as we are immortal, that means forever. If neither of us is killed through terminal injury, then nature is subverted and we will live eternally."

"Immortal?" Harry gasped in awe.

Snape would have rolled his eyes if he were the type of man to do so.

"Yes, unless we are killed," he repeated through gritted teeth.

"Like a stake through the heart," Harry submitted, hoping to show his professor that he was not as stupid as his shocked utterances were making him appear to be.

Snape nodded, mollified in his growing agitation by the presence of some evidence of wit in the boy.

"Indeed, though it is important to note that a stake through the heart would kill _anything_ living. We are not so different from 'normal' wizards; we have simply been transformed by the consumption of magically modified blood. What would have killed you before will kill you now, as long as it is a life threatening injury, such as decapitation or bleeding out. Of course, even then, our superior healing abilities often circumvent it, as well as threats like poisoning and infection.

The fact that they teach young wizards and witches that _garlic_, of all things, can ward us away and other such inane 'facts', only benefit us. Vampires are certainly not in any rush to correct the simpletons who fight against us with crucifix or believe they are safe while the sun shines overhead. Who would tell the ones who feared and hated them, that we can be killed far more easily?"

Harry sighed and leaned his head back against the back of the couch. This was too much. In a blink of an eye, his whole world had been turned upside down. Once again the forces and decisions that directed his life were not his own. Would he ever be able to forge his own path?

"So, what, I now survive by drinking your blood? How have you managed it this whole time?" Inwardly, Harry smirked. _Probably why he assigns so many detentions; has us students for dinner, then Obliviates us and makes us think we've been scrubbing cauldrons all night_.

"Our diets are not limited to the blood of another human, though it is the most satisfying. We are magically related to other _Essentia Comestores_, otherwise known as 'Essence Eaters'. These include incubi and succubi, who consume the sexual feelings of others, Moroi, who consume energy, and alps and mara, who feed on nightmares. We vampires consume the physical life forces. Including human blood, we can survive off of the bloods of close animal relatives such as the higher primates, and semen. For all of that, we can still imbibe regular food, if slightly altered to our new found tastes, as well as blood substitute potions of my own making, though we cannot survive from them." Snape informed Harry, speaking as if he were lecturing in class.

Harry gaped at the professor, blind to his cool composed sneer.

"Semen?"

"Yes, you simple child!" Snape snapped back. "Now cease your inane chatter!"

Harry instantly quieted and sat back on the couch with a sigh, a sudden force within him urging him to obey to his Sire. A fog of magic seemed to waft over him and a small shock of faint pleasure blossomed in his mind. He frowned in bewilderment. _What the hell was that?_

Snape pursed his lips in satisfaction upon seeing the boy's reaction.

"That was a part of the complicated Sire/Childe bond I was explaining earlier. It gives off a pleasurable response when you submit to your Sire. As it is my responsibility to protect and provide, it is the Childe's responsibility to obey and submit, both roles reinforced by stimulating pulses of magic to the pleasure centers of the brain."

Harry simply had nothing to say to that. He was supposed to_ submit_? Like some kind of slave or something. A sudden thought struck him. Would he be reduced to a house elf, like at the Dursleys? Would Snape have the right to beat him like they had done? He began to tremble, his arms wrapped tightly around his stomach as he rocked back and forth on the couch, Snape's presence forgotten in his distress. He had only just escaped from his hate filled home; he did not think he could do it again.

Snape startled at the sudden spike of the boy's fear and panicked body language. Quickly, he scooped up the smaller body and pressed the boy's face into his neck, hoping the steady beat of his heart and the tempting flow of his blood would calm him. He rocked them and spoke soothing words to break through the obvious terror.

"No, no… can't… not again...," the boy mumbled as if in a trance.

"What Childe? What can't you do?" Snape's deep silky voice danced over Harry's shattered nerves as he rubbed his Childe's back.

"I can't do it again! I won't be your slave! I'd rather die than go through it again!" Harry burst into tears.

It was the first time Snape saw the Gryffindor wonder boy break and he was at a loss at what to do. Going on instinct, he grabbed the boy tightly by his arms and held him up to face him. Remembering that the boy was still mostly blind, he realized eye contact would not garner the desired effect, but he continued anyway, speaking sternly in a steady voice, "Calm yourself, Harry."

Harry quieted, pulled from his sobs by a combination of the pulse of pleasure induced by the bond and the shock of hearing the querulous professor use his given name for the first time.

"Now, I do not know what produced such hysterics, but I assure you, I have no use for a slave or a pet. The compulsion to obey me and the pleasure induced by submitting is only in place so that I may better protect you. When I tell you to stay, hide, run, it insures that you listen to me. Of course it can be abused, but as I said before, I have no desire to be married to a house elf!"

He gazed deep into searching cloudy green eyes, willing the boy to understand. He refrained from mentioning that the bond was not a controlling force, such as the Imperius Curse, and could be overridden by the desires of the Childe. The boy was obstinate enough and would figure it out on his own in time.

Harry sniffled, taking deep breaths to bring his turmoil under control. It was for his protection? How could that be? He thought about all the times he had found himself in trouble over the years. If he had obeyed the professor back in fifth year, when Voldemort sent him those visions of Sirius, he supposed the man would still be alive today. He nodded and slumped back down to Professor Snape's chest. Perhaps it would not be so bad.

Snape combed his long fingers through the boy's unruly hair. It had secretly become one of his favourite things to do. It was thick and very soft, he wanted to bury his face in it, soak up the powdery sent of the boy.

His thoughts were racing, however. What did the boy mean "be a slave _again_"? He had always been sure that the boy was pampered and worshiped at home, treated like a veritable prince. His continual recalcitrant behaviour year after year had reinforced that assumption. But, surely no one in the wizarding world treated the Boy Who Lived as a lowly house elf, so who could it have been?

The remaining days of their time away from school were spent cementing their bond and teaching Harry the ways of the vampire. It took a few days for him to get used to the idea of obeying Snape, but eventually he saw that it was not as bad as he thought. In fact, he secretly liked it. It was nice not having to be in charge all the time. He instinctively knew he could trust in his Sire completely and, unlike before, when someone having authority over him meant pain and danger, he was able to submit to Snape and take comfort in the fact that he would be taken care of, that no harm would come of him through his vulnerability.

Harry's eyes had cleared by the next night. Unlike the sudden explosion of sound that heralded the return of his hearing, Harry's sight had faded back to him slowly throughout the day. By the late afternoon he had been able to see the professor's quarters for the first time.

He had sat wrapped snugly in a soft blue blanket on a russet coloured suede leather and dark stained wood couch with brass details up either arm rest. The design was mirrored in two matching club chairs that sat on the other side of a small dark cherry wood table. A large flagstone fireplace was nestled in the opposite corner, a large jar of Floo powder as well as an old picture of a lovely dark haired woman sat on the wide mantle. Next to it, centred in front of the farthest wall, was a large walnut desk, stained a deep warm brown, cluttered with piles of student essays and notes. Every inch of the walls was lined with shelves and cupboards, full of innumerable books, magical objects and the occasional personal item. The effect left was dark and cavernous, but was mitigated by the warm tones of the woods, furniture, and lighting.

It was wholly unexpected of the dour professor, both with the welcoming and stress free atmosphere and the abundant amount of red. Though it was not the loud Gryffindor red, Harry was secretly surprised there was not a speck of Slytherin green in the whole room, or the beige painted bathroom. He had not seen the bedroom yet, though.

By the time dinner was over, he was able to see well enough to sit quietly by the fire and read, though he needed the extra help of a strong _lumos_ to see the small printed words properly. The next morning –after he had confirmed that, no, there was no green in there either, and instead it was decorated in various shades of relaxing blues and light grey – he awoke to his full sight.

He wandered the rooms gazing wondrously at everything, amazed at the sheer power of his sight. He could see minute details he had never even thought were there. Colours were brilliant and vivid, making the world appear awash in vitality.

After his morning shower, Severus – he had been adamant that his Childe need not be so formal with him and could refer to him by his first name – appeared in the bedroom doorway. He leaned against the doorway, wrapped in his bathrobe and squeezing out the excess water from his shoulder length locks with a fluffy white towel. He smirked watching Harry wander around his rooms, a look of awe on his face. He must have made a noise because the boy turned to look at him.

Severus' breath caught in his throat. Harry beamed happily at him, showing off his pearly white teeth, his elongated blood teeth, that he had not yet learned how to retract, peeking out from behind cherry pink lips.

The transformation had been kind to him, as Severus had seen over the course of the week. His body hardly resembled the malnourished waif he used to be. Instead every inch of him was muscled and lightly defined. Where once had been poking ribs and a nearly concave chest, now showed broad shoulders and a strong torso that lead to a flat stomach. His hips flared ever so slightly accentuating a deliciously rounded backside and strong thighs.

The result was nearly a whole new person. He was still small and lithe, only considerably healthier. The new muscle combined with his slightly elevated vampiric strength to boost his agility and stamina. The gangly and clumsy teenager now moved with the grace of a panther.

But what caught the professor's attention were his eyes. They blazed. The once radiant greed eyes, now nearly glowed in the dark. The emerald iridescence shone preternaturally in the dimly lit rooms, and were startlingly striking.

Severus was entranced. Harry was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. He could not wait to fully possess him. They had been growing closer every day, the bond working them towards completion. Their feedings had become more and more sensual, the boy losing more and more control with each drop of blood that dripped down his throat.

During that day's feeding, Severus could not hold back. Harry pierced his wrist with his blood teeth, sucking in the warm liquid hungrily. He moaned as it slid down his throat and coated his tongue. It gathered at his lips and dribbled down his chin. It was ecstasy and he wiggled against Severus' broad chest, feeling himself grow hard.

Severus licked his lips, wanting desperately to taste him. When the boy was done feeding he released the man's wrist and leaned back into him, panting in arousal. Severus descended upon him pressing his lips to the blood stained ones of his Childe. He slid his tongue inside the warm cavern, tasting the delicious tang of blood and the sweet taste of Harry.

Harry began to respond in kind, enveloped in the sensuous fog of feeding. His wanton moans were captured in the mouth of his Sire. He gripped the man's robes hard, trying to get closer. Severus placed his hand on the boy's heaving chest and unbuttoned the top button of his robe. He worked his way down, grazing a stiff pink nipple on the way, until his hand met the hot hard length of the boy's shaft, straining in his trousers.

Harry bucked frantically at the sudden friction. Severus made quick work of the trouser button and slowly lowered the zipper. He reached underneath his tented boxers and palmed his Childe's dripping erection.

Harry moaned loud and long. It was the first time someone else touched him there and it felt more fantastic then he had ever imagined. He bucked his hips again, trying to urge the hand to stroke and squeeze him.

Severus gripped the boy's throbbing member, pulling it out of his shorts. He was hungry for a taste of it. It did not look like his Childe was going to last long.

He set Harry back against the back of the couch. He moaned at the loss of Severus' warmth against his now sensitive skin. Severus kneeled before him and spread his legs, pulling his shorts and trousers lower to gather at his ankles.

"Oh, God!' Harry whispered as he realized what his professor was about to do.

Severus crawled closer, smoothing his hands up Harry's silky white thighs, until Harry could feel his warm breath against his wet member.

"AUGH!" Harry panted, as Severus licked a line up his cock from base to tip. He swirled his tongue around the head before sucking it down his throat to the root.

"OOOOHH!" Harry screamed, as he came down Severus' throat.

"MMM," Severus hummed, the delicious salty cum spreading on his tongue as he let the now limp cock slip from his lips. He watched, fully satisfied as his Childe drifted on his post-orgasm high, splayed spread eagle and on display for him. It was too soon to take him, but he could wait. It would be all the more satiating in the end.

Harry, coming out of his haze, flushed deeply, seeing the lascivious look on his Sire face. He was so embarrassed and wished the earth would open up and swallow him whole, but he was also very pleased he could put hat look on his Sires face. He wanted to give him more.

By the end of their two weeks together, Harry was beginning to get used to the idea of staying with Severus. He still did not get along with the man a lot of the time but the bond was clearly influencing his emotions, urging him to be close to him, to feel safe when he was around him. Before his senses came back, he had welcomed Severus by his side. He had been the only person present while he had been scared and lost, his only lifeline to the world outside of his own mind. Being near him had and continued to soothe him through the overwhelming fear that had descended upon him after the attack and subsequent torture session.

That brought his mind back to the outside world. Severus had never said what happened to Nott, if anything at all. He was afraid to find out. What if he was still out there? Would he do it again? He shivered at the thought of taking that first step out of the chambers. He did not know how he was going to go to class, and that was not even counting what everyone would say about his very sudden marriage to a professor, let alone that it was _**Snape**_ of all people! What would everyone think? What would Ron think?

**A/N: Hiya! I hope you weren't too bored by this chapter, as it's mostly dialogue. The story will get moving in the next few chapters.**


	6. Reaction

**Disclaimer: This fanfiction is based on the characters and situations created by J.K. Rowling, and belongs to her, several publishers including but not limited Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, Carlsen Verlag and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made with this and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.**

**Chapter 6- Reaction**

Theodore Nott woke up early the day after the attack. He had only had time for a quick nap, as he had been up until the early hours of the morning. After displaying Potter's body in the Entrance Hall, which he had thought was an inspired idea, he had skipped back down to the Slytherin common room. He had paced the darkened room, lit only by dimmed torches and the crackling flames of the fireplace, too excited to lie in bed. He had been virtually trembling with adrenalin.

He had done it! He had done what even the Dark Lord had not been able to do. He had killed Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One! The Nott name would be restored to its former and rightful prestige. Where his father had failed, he had succeeded.

Though he would never presume to think he was greater than the Dark Lord, by the time he left Hogwarts, he would be lauded as a great dark wizard. He would make sure of it.

He cackled manically out loud in the empty common room. He could not wait to see the looks on everyone's faces when they saw their hero strung up, beaten and bloodied, as they made their way to breakfast. He imagined lethargic Gryffindors stumbling down the Grand Staircase, lazily rubbing sleep from their eyes, only to stop, their eyes widening in horror when they finally caught sight of what used to be the boy they had labelled the Great Defender.

Despite the small amount of sleep, the anticipation of the pandemonium it would cause was enough to get him out of bed and ready for breakfast before most of his housemates. As casually and inconspicuously as he could muster in his enthusiasm, he sauntered up the stairs to the Entrance Hall. He froze in his tracks at what he saw.

Nothing. There was nothing there.

Quickly he snapped out of his shock and joined the couple of students that were up that early and trickling into the Great Hall, so as not to look suspicious.

_That's ok,_ he thought, _of course the staff would have been up, far before the students. They will probably announce the death of the "Mighty" Harry Potter during breakfast, or it could even already have made it to the front page of the Daily Prophet. Oh! Maybe we'll get the day off from classes, too…_

Confidence restored, he continued over to the Slytherin table, sat down, and helped himself to some kippers and black pudding. He ate slowly, drawing out his breakfast so that he would have a reason to be there when McGonagall made the awaited announcement.

He was pouring himself his third cup of the strong Irish tea he favoured –his excitement having waned with the lack of expected activity, and with it, his wakefulness – when the Headmistress entered the Hall looking stern in her emerald green tartan robes. He frowned to himself as she simply sat and began to serve herself, speaking quietly to Professor Sprout beside her. His anxiety only increased when there was no mention of the incident in the morning paper.

What had gone wrong? He was sure Potter had been dead when he had left him, so it was not like the wanker had gotten up and walked away. He wearily pushed himself off of the bench and prepared to head up to Transfiguration class, and cursed himself when he realised he had forgotten all of his books and his bag in the dorm in his eagerness to get to breakfast. As he stalked briskly back down to the dungeons he tried to calm his growing apprehension by telling himself, that Potter was dead and there was no way he could be caught.

* * *

><p>Minerva pursed her thin lips primly as she thought over the information she had just received from Severus, as the whipping of his black robes and the roaring flare of the Floo signaled his departure. Harry had finally been able to inform him of the identity of his attacker.<p>

She shook her head in rueful dismay. Theodore Nott. She should have known. She should have been more aware of the Death Eater children. It was her duty as Headmistress and as a figurehead of the Order of the Phoenix.

And now, young Harry's life had been made quite difficult by circumstances out of his control once again.

Severus had looked positively enraged when he had sat before the Headmistress and informed her of the perpetrator. His obsidian eyes had glittered with his malevolence, scenarios of retribution nearly visible within them.

It concerned her slightly. During the week since she had seen the man in her office, she had tried to read up on vampirism. There was astonishingly little of the information that Severus had shared with her to be found in any of the more modern books, but had little time to search for the ancient texts that could shed a better light, with all that was going on at the moment. One thing that she had been able to discern from almost all of the books was that to kill or injure a vampire was to incur the wrath of its coven upon you. She hoped that Severus could control his more beastly nature and would refrain from tearing the child apart.

Despite her concerns, she had given in to his request to retrieve the boy himself. He was, after all, a Slytherin, and it was Severus' job as the boy's Head of House to deal with him. Quite frankly, after what Minerva had seen of the poor Potter boy in the hospital ward, she would not withhold from Severus the satisfaction of a little ruffing up of the young Death Eater, as long as Nott was turned into Aurors in one piece.

She heaved a deep sigh, and shook herself out of her spiteful thoughts. Smoothing back her grey streaked black hair, as had become a sort of self-comforting habit during the more stressful periods of the war, she made to stand and prepare to go to the Great Hall for dinner when one of her chimes went off. It was a light, tinkling sound, left over from the time of her predecessor Dumbledore, which sounded when someone had crossed the threshold that was guarded by the stone gargoyle.

Resigning herself to a late supper, she settled herself back in her chair behind the broad and well used desk, calling out a greeting when the knock came to the door.

The door opened to a determined looking Ronald Weasley. Minerva bit back an impatient sigh. The boy had, as predicted, been harassing her daily about the whereabouts of his friend the entire week. She was glad that she had something to tell him today. Hopefully it would make the conversation shorter than it usually ended up being, because she was really quite peckish at the moment.

The tall and lanky boy stomped to stand in front of her desk with a mulish look on his face.

"Professor," he grated out between gritted teeth, "have you heard anything about Harry?"

Minerva ignored the boy's rude tone. She understood his worry. One day his friend, a friend who often found himself in trouble of the life-threatening sort, had up and disappeared with no explanation, and the very people who were supposed to watch out for him, seemed far less than concerned.

She waited until the boy stopped trying to bore a hole in her favourite rug with his eyes and met her serious green gaze.

"I have, Mr. Weasley," she said with a commiserating nod.

The boy's hostile expression dissolved into one of hopeful anxiety. He hastily flopped into one of the chairs behind him and leaned forward as if to show his professor she had his undivided attention.

"Where is he? What's happened? Is he alright? When's he-" his nervous, rambling questions were halted by his professor's raised hand, calling for quite.

"Calm down, Mr. Weasley. He is fine," she paused to consider if she should tell this boy the story they had come up with. Minerva knew her Lions and Ronald Weasley would certainly find it a hard story to stomach. But perhaps, she thought, it was no harder to handle than the truth. Her face hardened into her familiar no nonsense look, her lips pressed in a grim line. "The night Mr. Potter disappeared, he had been attacked, quite severely and has been in recovering in a secure place since then."

"WHAT?" the boy squawked.

"Do let me finish, Mr. Weasley," she reprimanded with narrowed eyes. Once the boy seemed to contain himself, she continued. "Due to the severity and the breadth of his injuries," the Weasley boy paled dramatically, "Mr. Potter had been unable to inform us of the identity of his attacker. As he had been left for dead, we wanted to keep his survival a secret until the guilty parties were apprehended. Last night, he was finally able to do so."

"He's going to be alright?" Weasley asked shakily.

Minerva gave a curt nod.

"Yes, he will recover, but..." she searched the face of the young man in front of her. She wondered if he would be able to handle Potter's condition. She decided that would be left to Harry to deal with. For now, she had to make sure the youngest Weasley boy would know the basics and be able to keep to the story they would live by in public. "but he will not be completely the same."

She watched as the boy's face contorted into fear for his friend, and quickly continued.

"The nature of his change will be left for Mr. Potter to explain if he chooses to, however, it is important that you know that his life will be changed from now on. First of all, he will no longer be able to room in the dorms," Minerva forestalled the argument that she saw the boy was about to make, "It is unavoidable, Mr. Weasley. Secondly, we must stick to the story that it has been decided we will now give to anyone who raises any concerns about Mr. Potter's whereabouts. We are to tell anyone asking that Mr. Potter has chosen to enter in marriage with Professor Snape and is currently honeymooning in Wales, as that is who he will be staying with for the foreseeable future."

"ARE YOU INSANE, PROFESSOR?" the boy yelled furiously, jumping up from the chair and nearly tipping it in his hasty exclamation.

By the time she got the youngest Weasley boy to calm down and leave her office, the evening meal was long over and she had a headache she suspected would have rivaled any You-Know-Who ever gave Potter.

* * *

><p>Ron staggered back toward the Gryffindor tower in a daze. He could not believe what Professor McGonagall had told him. Yet he could not help but accept it in some part of himself. Insane things like that always happened to Harry.<p>

He agonised for his friend. He was stuck with the greasy git, supposed to be his husband, and apparently would never be the same again after his attack, and he had not even been able to be there for him. This mysterious change worried him, to no end. Would he still be Harry? Was he the same mentally? Was he physically impaired in some way? He had heard of spells that left their victims crippled, their bodies twisted or left in chronic pain. The Headmistress had been awfully vague about his ailment.

A spike of panic cramped in his gut. He could not handle loosing Harry. He had been alone for a week and it had not done him well at all. With Hermione gone to Australia in search of her parents to restore their memories, aside from the weekly letter from his girlfriend chronicling her journey, it was just him and Harry.

Though they, of course, had been best friends before, Ron had latched onto Harry in his mind with a fierceness that bordered on obsession. He had built up a wall around his friendship with the dark haired boy, a wall he used to block out all of the more difficult emotions that had been assaulting him for months now.

He was mourning his immediate older brother, Fred, deeply. He had never noticed before how much the twins, as a unit, contributed to the cohesion and atmosphere of his family. Now that Fred was gone, taken from them so suddenly, everything was different, everything was dark.

He was doing his best to hide his grief, however. George had nearly fallen apart with the death of his twin, and refused to talk to anyone for an entire month after the Battle. It had taken a heavy toll on the rest of them. His older brothers, all living in their own homes, visited their parents often, but their subdued moods reflected those of the elder Weasleys. His father grieved quietly, withdrawing to his shed out back or patting a comforting hand on his mother's heaving shoulders as she keened her sorrow. His mother cried nearly every day. Even towards the end of summer, almost three months later, she had still been seen tearing up, holding some remnant of a prank or an old sock that used to belong to her fifth son.

Ginny was nearly just as bad. Her state of mind had reverted to about how she had been during her first year, when she had been in possession of Tom Riddle's diary. She was depressed and cried a lot. In the aftermath of the Battle, she and Harry had decided to take a break from each other. Both needed to sort themselves out; Harry needed to deal with the fallout of the war, and she with her growing melancholy.

Ron stopped mid-stride at the thought. Anytime his sister got into that kind of mood, she would seek him out for comfort as someone who was going through the same thing. He cringed at the thought, turning on his heel, and sending out a mental plea that she would forgive him for avoiding her when she so obviously needed him to be there. He could not handle having to hear his sister's mournful cries, hear her talk out her grief with stories and memories of their brother. With the added information he received from Professor McGonagall, he knew he would not be able to maintain the shaky wall built to hold back his emotions.

He headed down to the kitchens, hoping to talk one of the elves into fixing him a few sandwiches to take up to the Astronomy Tower.

No, he could not lose control. He would not give in to his emotion. He was not some baby, some child, and he definitely was not a girl, so he knew he had to suck it up and get over it as men do. He had never seen his father cry. The only man that did was George, but he was allowed his grief. It was his twin after all. The thing was he had thought he would have been able to put it behind him by now. It was the second week in November and the emotion was still there working away at his emotional fortifications like crushing waves against craggy cliff walls.

Instead of focusing on his grief, he had focused on Harry, but even there, there were so many conflicting emotions. Jealousy curled over his defenses every so often, jealousy over the amount of attention and adulation Harry had received since the defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Yet Ron knew he must be strong for him in this time of loss and confusion.

He was determined that he would not be like he was before. He knew Harry never asked for this. He remembered his pitiful display during the Triwizard Tournament. He had seen the critical looks from Bill and Fleur when he had turned up on the stoop of Shell Cottage the night he had left Harry and Hermione while on the hunt for Horcruxes. It was the night when he had given in to his fears and jealousies, and revealed how truly weak he was. It was clear in their eyes; the disappointment that was never voiced but was there none the less.

Still, Ron fought with himself. He had so much rage. Unwanted thoughts crept up in his mind that he did his best to push down. Harry had died but been able to come back. You-Know-Who had killed him directly with Avada Kedavra, and still he walked away unharmed… for a second time! Why not Fred? He also felt unaccountably angry that Harry had not noticed how upset he really was about his brother. Some confused part of Ron's brain felt that Harry somehow had never seemed to be sad enough about Fred's death, though he understood that Harry had a lot of people to mourn and things to deal with.

He knew that he loved Harry like a brother, so he pushed those feelings back deep in his mind anytime they tried to sneak up on him. Because Harry did not need that. He had gone through so much in this past year. It was finally time for Harry to be able to have an uneventful year. He should not have to take care of an emotional Ron too.

He wished Hermione was there. She would understand and know where he was coming from and he would not be just another burden of her shoulders, like he would be with Harry. Now without Harry there, he was lost, having no one to focus his attentions on and nothing to distract him from his more distressing thoughts. He was so very lonely without his two best friends.

Now, apparently it would stay that way. Harry was not going to be coming back to the dorms. He wondered if he would even see him anymore outside of classes. Would he still eat in the Great Hall with the rest of the students? Was he even still a Gryffindor?

He had to clamp down on those thoughts. The spike of panic was increasing in his stomach again. He could not think of losing his best friend too.

Instead, he focused on the problem –Snape. What the bloody hell did Professor McGonagall mean he would tell people he was married to the git? Was it just that? Were they just telling people they were married or were they actually romantically involved? If that was true, how could Harry not tell him something like that? Was that the real reason he and Ginny broke up? Was Harry checking out blokes while he was making sweet on his sister?

He was not sure he liked that idea.

* * *

><p>Severus sat nearly motionless in his padded leather office chair with his elbows braced on the desktop before him, his fingers rubbing across his lips as if in deep thought, and staring distantly at the wall. While outwardly he was calm, inside he was prowling like a caged panther, gathering its strength and fury for a chance to escape and maul its captors.<p>

He had left Harry asleep in their quarters, assured that he would not wake up in a panic if he happened to be elsewhere. Now that the boy had at least one of his senses back and felt less vulnerable, he could be left alone for small periods of time. He was still slightly feverish so the Professor did not expect him to wake soon.

That was alright with Severus. He planned to enjoy this.

The Sire instincts within him urged him to get rid of the threat to his Childe. Severus wanted to tear the boy apart. He wanted to sink his teeth into the young Slytherin's flesh and rend it from his bones, but he held himself in check. He was not a Slytherin for nothing. He would do this as well-thought out as he could manage.

He had sent a letter to the Nott boy with one of the house elves, calling for an immediate meeting with him. He had told him they needed to meet about his Potions work. It was an easy enough excuse. The boy had done exceedingly bad in the week's classroom work, under the tutelage of the substitute teacher. Now Severus could guess that instead of slacking, the boy had probably been too disquieted with the lack of news about the Boy-Who-Lived's demise.

Good.

Severus broke from his thoughts at the hesitant knock on his office door. Calling out a terse "Enter!" he watched with a baleful glare as the boy strode inside. Nott approached his desk with his chin held high and his back ramrod straight, as any pureblood child had been coached to carry themself. Though he presented a confident front, his body easily betrayed him under the observant glare of the Potions Master. His fingers flexed at his sides, as if he wanted to hide them in his pockets. His face looked gaunt and shadowed. His eyes were ringed with dark circles indicating he had had little sleep in the last week.

Before the boy could so much as open his mouth, Snape waved his wand and cast a Silencing Spell and locked the door.

"Sir?" the boy asked in a slightly panicked voice and swung his eyes from the locked door to his professor and back again.

"Mr. Nott, it appears that you have had a hard time concentrating in class this week. I realise I have been absent during that time. Surely you do not miss me that much, Mr. Nott?" Snape said in his usual low growl, staring intently at the boy. He squirmed under the scrutiny.

"Er… no sir. Just have something on my mind, sir," Nott answered in a wavering tone, eyes flickering across the intricately patterned rug at his feet.

"Yes, I do find that murder has the unfortunate disadvantage to weigh on one's conscience," Severus sneered.

Nott bowed his head at the words, his straw-coloured hair falling into his eyes, as the weight of his stress seemed to overwhelm him. He seemed to have realised just who he had been talking to, however, when he suddenly straightened and sneered up at the man towering over him. He pasted a look that rivaled the vitriol contained in Snape's face as he glowered at the Potions professor.

"I only did what any good servant of the Dark Lord would have done, something a loathsome traitor like you would never understand. The Dark Lord may be dead, but his greatness lives on in his loyal followers! Potter's death will only inspire those who are pure of heart, mind, and blood into continuing to further the glorious vision of our lord!" Nott spoke vehemently, with manic furor, his face reddening and spittle gathering at his mouth.

Snape leaned back from the boy, as if considering his words, but subtly flicked his wand from beneath his crossed arms.

"Stupefy!"

Nott instantly fell unconscious to the ground. Severus turned his wand on himself and pointed it at his face, casting a quick Bubble-Head Charm, encasing his mouth and nose with a bubble of air. Then he reached into his pocket and took out a small glass vial with a clear light blue liquid inside.

Bending over the incapacitated boy, Snape smirked maliciously.

"Breathe deeply, Mr. Nott."

The unconscious boy's breath was even and deep as if in sleep. Snape held out the small vial and placed his wand tip on the rim of it.

"Ventaspera!" Severus whispered. A strong puff of air escaped the end of his wand as he poured a tiny amount of the potion. The liquid misted as if sprayed, diffusing into the air over Nott's face, where he breathed it in.

His task done, Snape put away the vial in one of his desk drawers, locking it behind him. Dispelling the Bubble-Head Charm, he levitated the boy and walked through the Floo, calling out his destination as the Headmistress' office.

Young Nott had an appointment with some Aurors.

**A/N: "Ventaspera" is pseudo-Latin combining "Ventus" (wind) and "Aspera" (harsh)**


	7. Courage of a Lion

**Disclaimer: This fanfiction is based on the characters and situations created by J.K. Rowling, and belongs to her, several publishers including but not limited Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made with this and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.**

**Beta reader: Much thanks to Iriya! **

**Chapter 7 – Courage of a Lion**

Harry squeezed his eyes shut tight and tried to calm his increasingly short breaths. The water pounded down onto him as he stood underneath the showerhead, his skin reddening after the prolonged time spent under the punishingly hot torrents. Severus was probably growing irritated with him hogging the bathroom, but Harry did not care.

Harry felt like a bloody coward. He was a stain on the house of Gryffindor. Known throughout the Wizarding world as "The Defender of Light", "The Man Who Conquered", and "The Defeater of He Who Must Not Be Named", he was literally trembling in his trainers at the thought of leaving the safe sanctuary of Severus' and his chambers for his first day back to class.

Not a night had gone by where he had not woken up in a panicked sweat, flashes of his tormentor's manically gleeful face and scenes of his torture haunted his dreams and he writhed on the shared bed in remembered pain. In his seven years of fighting Voldemort, even _he_ had not been able to cause Harry as much pain as his fellow seventh year student had. Nothing had been as bad an experience or left a deep a wound as this had.

Harry did not know what to do with himself. He had faced difficulties and fear, be it as a result of cruel muggle relatives or insane Dark wizards, greater than he had ever thought he would be able to bear before with all the courage worthy of the Lion that adorned the Gryffindor crest. But then, he had never had a choice before. This time, in his hour of greatest need he had finally acquired a safe haven, surprisingly, in the home of his vitriolic Potions Professor.

Now that he did not have to be, he did not think he could be strong; he could not stand alone. He did not have to bolster himself in stoic resolution, and instead could just fall apart and let someone else worry about things for a while. He could not go back out into the world pretending nothing had happened, like he did when he came back from the Dursleys. He could not roam the corridors, a carefree student, with no larger problems than getting his Transfiguration essay perfect; without looking over his shoulder.

Outside the well-warded doors of their chambers, the dungeons were dark, and the castle was full of hidden corners and deserted classrooms. Anyone could be lurking out there, waiting to capture him, bind him, hurt him.

Numbly he shut off the shower and climbed out.

Outside the bathroom door, Severus waited impatiently. He had seen the signs the night before. The boy had become increasingly fretful and jumpy after he had mentioned that they were going back out the next morning and what he would have to expect.

He had never seen the boy like that, though he thought it was safe to say the child had never been through something as traumatic and life changing as the events of the last two weeks.

Now, he stood, tapping an exasperated foot, waiting for the boy to finish his now hour-long shower. He was certainly thankful he was in the habit of rising early before class and had already had his morning shower; otherwise he would have been out of luck. The boy was in danger of missing breakfast if he did not quit his overdramatic hysterics and get ready.

The door opened in a gust of rolling steam to emit Potter. The boy stopped in the middle of the room looking as if in a daze, staring into space with glazed eyes. Water dripped from his hair and he was clad only in a towel, held in his loose grip about his slim hips.

Severus sneered in disgust. He had had enough.

He swooped over the boy and backed him into the wall. Harry seemed to snap out of his stupor when his bare back collided with the cold stone of the dungeon wall. He looked up into the Potions Master's narrowed black eyes with trepidation and confusion, but still leaned into his touch when he grabbed a hold on the side of his neck, a potion stained thumb smoothing over the skin of his chin. The small movement seemed at odds with the furious glare the older man gave him as he loomed over.

"You will cease your inane fit of melodrama this instant. You will get dressed and get ready for class. You will accompany me, in a timely manner, to the Great Hall, and you will conduct yourself in a manner befitting someone who has been deemed appropriate as my spouse. Am I clear?" Severus snarled.

His Childe let out a breath he seemed to have been holding and straightened himself, seeming to steel himself, though his chin quivered as if holding in a sob, and nodded.

Severus returned the gesture with a curt nod of his own and released the boy to begin to dress, surreptitiously letting his fingertips slide over his Childe's bite mark. Harry sagged slightly as some of his tension disappeared and Severus turned to leave.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut as his Sire walked away. He knew that what he was about to say would leave him vulnerable to the man's words, famous throughout the wizarding world for being vicious enough to make grown men cry, but he had no other person to turn to for comfort.

Sagging into the wall, he stopped his Sire in the doorway.

"I'm… I'm scared, sir," he admitted, reverting back to the more formal address subconsciously in his moment of vulnerability.

Severus paused in the doorway, but did not turn around.

"To think that I would let anyone bring harm to my coven, let alone my Childe would be the height of foolishness. Those who would dare attempt to do so would be lucky to find death before they could feel the full weight of my wrath." The professor continued his way into the sitting room.

Behind him, Harry was disturbed by the sheer violence and hatred he could hear in those words, but as he dressed he found himself feeling considerably lighter.

* * *

><p>Harry stood stock still in the entranceway of the Great Hall.<p>

Severus had walked with him down the hallways, his fingers firmly pressed into the flesh of his neck, as he led him to the Great Hall. The domineering gesture was oddly comforting. It had taken from him the option of giving up and running away or having to gather his courage and making himself walk on. Now that reassuring weight was gone, the professor having continued on to the teacher's side entrance and he stood, wide eyed, with the entire Great Hall staring at him.

The moment he had entered, all conversation had ceased and all eyes turned to him. He had attempted to quietly make his way to the Gryffindor table unnoticed, but it seemed that, even though Professor McGonagall had only had to tell a few people of their "marriage", word had spread rather quickly.

Now, Harry stood paralysed, breaths coming in short panicked pants, and his mind gone blank in the face of all the attention, his newly acquired and more acute senses focusing on each expectant face, each knowing smirk, each sizing glance. He could hear the hundreds of heartbeats speed up in breathless anticipation and feel the tension on his skin.

"Oy, Harry!" rose a voice from the deafening silence. Harry's eyes snapped over to the direction the voice had come from, and his panic receded as he spotted Neville waving him over at the end of the Gryffindor table.

The exclamation seemed to snap everyone out of it. The students turned back to each other and the Hall began to fill with the low roar of hundreds of students talking at once. Harry made his way over, hunched in a self-protective posture and trying to ignore the comments and insults he could hear clearly, amid the frequent and scandalised glances of his fellow students.

"Alright, Harry?" Neville offered with a friendly grin as Harry rushed over and settled himself between him and Ron.

Harry slumped in relief at reaching his destination. From the beginning of the year, Neville had moved into the third spot of "The Potter Trio", as the papers had taken to calling them, which Hermione had vacated. It seemed that fighting side by side against the greatest Dark wizard of the age had brought the three boys together closer than they had ever been, and Neville's calm and shy demeanor fit right in with the other two boys. He was also a more stable presence. He had come into his own during the last year, leading the resistance inside of Hogwarts, and he had lost no one in the war. It might even be a better fit than with Hermione, though neither boy was ever going to say anything to that effect.

On the other side of him, Ron was giving him a knowing look. Harry tried to ignore him.

"Yeah, thanks Neville," Harry sighed.

"How... how've been?" Neville asked quietly, ever sensitive to delicate matters, "You look… different."

"I'm fine," Harry answered shortly, reaching to scoop himself up some eggs and trying to ignore the way his friend was looking at him.

"What the fuck, Harry!" Ron burst out in a furious whisper.

"Later! I can't say anything right now, but I will explain _later_," Harry whispered back. "I'll catch Ginny in Potions and we will meet you guys in the Room of Requirement after class today. Ok?"

Ron pulled a determined face, but humphed in agreement. Neville nodded, though Harry did not miss the worried look the boy was sending him.

The rest of breakfast was spent trying to ignore the persistent words of the others in the Great Hall. No one was even trying to hide that they were talking about him, and their words struck at him easily. He wished Ron or Neville would say something to distract him, but it seemed they had a lot to think about as well.

He heard Ginny admonishing some lower years for talking about him, where she sat further down the table. His heart warmed, hoping that meant that she did not hate him for "getting married" behind her back, but he was too afraid to look up at her. Hopefully she would forgive him when he explained later.

It was with relief that he followed Neville out of the Great Hall for his first class of the day.

* * *

><p>Severus lifted the morning's Daily Prophet so that it blocked the view of his face. He smiled. It was a cruel, dark smile, but a smile nonetheless, and its appearance would only bring unwanted attention to him.<p>

His mood had lifted with what had awaited him, tucked in a small, almost non-article in the middle of the paper. It was perfectly nondescript and unremarkable to the common reader, only a few sentences long, but to him it was a triumph.

It had worked. He had never had a chance to test it on another human being. He was left to use only rats, now that the Dark Lord was not around to provide him with human test subjects, one of the only disadvantages he had found since his death.

"_Aurors were called to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry yesterday to remove a student from the premises",_ the paper reported, _"Aurors on site could only report that it involved an offence in the name of He Who Must Not Be Named, but would not release any further information."_

Severus read and reread the sentences with growing satisfaction. The best part was the last two sentences.

"_The student died, however, on route to the Ministry holding cells. Though the death is under investigation, Aurors are assuming the student ingested a poison, to avoid being questioned and imprisoned, as is a common problem faced when apprehending rogue Death Eaters."_

What the Aurors would never know was that he had helped the boy shuffle off his mortal coil.

His poison was perfect. Once inhaled into the respiratory system, the eroding agents it contained immediately began to eat away at his vital organs. It worked its way from organ to organ, dissolving and the body from the inside until it was completely consumed, leaving only empty bones and a puddle of liquefied tissues. The best part, beside the fact that no one but he and Albus Dumbledore had known of its invention, was that it was completely untraceable. The components of the poison that were left were all organic and naturally found in the body or were materials that would be found inside of anyone who had extensive exposure to potions fumes, as Potions students did. It consumed all traces of magic, including that of the brewer and any magical plants, in order to work. It destroyed magical beings in the same manner; seeking out all of the magic in the body and destroying anything in its path.

Severus set the paper aside, took up his fork and began to dig in to the varied fruits on his plate. He stared through the curtain of his hair at his Childe, sitting across the Hall. He was safe now; Nott was dead, and in the most brutal and painful fashion he had been able to dream up without resorting to tearing him apart with his bare hands.

Severus took a deep, cleansing breath. It took a lot out of him to be so ruthless. He had never been so bloodthirsty before, even when he had willingly given himself up to the Dark Lord. But it was something he could not help anymore. He had never had a Childe and feared he would never have another. No one would ever threaten his Childe again and if they tried, they would find out how big a mistake that was.

* * *

><p>Harry sighed wearily as the door to the Room of Requirement appeared in the wall. He was the first one there, even though he and Ginny both had Potions as the last class of the day. She had said that she had already promised to go talk to her partner Susan Bones, the only girl from Hufflepuff from his year that had returned to complete their education, about their Charms project. He did not think she would be so passive aggressive as to lie about it and just not show up to their meeting, but after the day he had had, hope that things could possibly go back to the way it was before had been thoroughly banished from his mind.<p>

He opened the door to the room and halted in his tracks before snorting at himself. The room was an exact replica of Severus' sitting room. He had asked the room for someplace he could feel safe and relax. Harry flushed. The room seemed to know him better than he did. He did not have the heart to change it, however; it had been that bad a day. At least no one would know it was Severus' sitting room.

He flopped down on the rust-coloured sofa that had become his preferred place of rest and waited for the others to come.

The fire crackled in the fireplace on the other side of the room and the familiar sound soothed his frayed nerves. It had been one of the worst days of his life, well, when it came to classroom gossip anyway. Sentiments like "I heard they had been fucking since fifth year" and "Now we know why Snape liked to give him so many detentions" had been passed around him all day, with no regard to how true they were or how they would make him feel.

The worst part was he could not have avoided it. His hearing had become so acute that he was able to hear each scornful voice whether he wanted to or not.

He had not even been able to meet with Draco at their usual place. He had been far too afraid of facing the boy's reaction, even if he desperately missed Draco's drawling voice, brutal honesty, and silent companionship. Later that day, when he had crossed paths with the pale boy, the sneer on his face had not been able to hide the hurt at being stood up. He would be sure to go there for lunch tomorrow.

Instead he had tried to retreat from the constant ridicule and sneering faces and spend lunch in Severus' quarters. Luck had not been on his side, however, as the Potions professor had emerged from his classroom at just the right time and caught him, ordering him out and up to lunch on pain of detention.

He had not been able to pay attention to any of his subjects, which only made Professor Snape – he would have to keep thinking of him as Professor outside of their quarters if he did not want the man to flay him alive and use him in his potions – even more angry at him.

He sighed. He was doomed. Doomed, doomed, doomed. He only hoped what he was about to tell Ron, Neville, and Ginny would not drive them away too.

He shook off, what Severus would term (and he could not help but agree) his childish histrionics as the door snicked open and admitted Ron and Neville.

"Hey, guys," he greeted tiredly.

"Hey," they chimed back.

"Ginny's not here yet," He answered Ron's unasked question as he peered around the room.

"Yes I am," the fiery haired girl announced as she crossed the threshold behind them.

Harry sighed inwardly in relief.

The boys plopped themselves on the club chairs opposite the couch, while Harry made room for Ginny next to him. He stared at the cherrywood table that separated them until Ginny finally huffed.

"So, are you going to explain?" she demanded.

Harry sighed.

"Yeah," he paused not knowing where to begin, "Um, well, I guess I should tell you right off that I'm not really married."

"O-kay," Ginny said after a long pause. Harry looked up into her eyes for the first time that day, before looking away again quickly. She seemed surprised and relieved. Neville leaned forward in interest and Ron did not seem all that surprised.

Severus had told him how Ron had been told that the marriage was just a cover, and he was glad the boy had had some time to process the information before he had had to confront him. His immediate reactions were always hot-headed and badly thought out. He was also glad it looked like the red headed boy had kept his secrets, something that would be needed with the information that was to come.

With that, Harry began at the beginning. He told them of meeting Nott in the dungeons after his detention. He skimmed over what happened in the abandoned classroom, not yet ready to deal with what had happened to him, and about waking up blind and deaf.

Ginny looked pained when he described not knowing what had happened and why or even where he was. The blood had drained from Neville's face, his deep brown eyes wide with shock, were a stark contrast to his pale skin, at the thought of his friend being so badly injured. Ron had turned quite red and his face screwed up into a look not unlike a rabid dog, when Harry had told them about Nott's attack and only grew redder as he had continued. Harry knew he was blaming himself for not being there for his friend.

"So, I don't get it, Harry. What's all this nonsense with Snape?" Ron finally blurted out when Harry had lost his courage again and began to stall.

"Well, uh... well you see… Snape was the one that found me, um, after the attack. He said… he said that Nott had sort of… displayed me in the Great Hall, my… body," Harry paused, interrupted by Ginny's gasp. "He said that I was dying… that I would not have made it to the hospital wing alive," Neville gulped and covered his mouth with his fist, "so he said that he had no choice but to…"

Harry stopped and looked the three of them in the eyes.

"Harry?" Ginny prompted with a gentle hand on his arm.

"This doesn't leave this room, right guys?" Neville stated more than asked, sensing what was wrong with his friend. The other two assured Harry that his secret was safe with them.

Harry drove his hand through his hair and braced himself.

"He had to turn me," He elaborated when all he got was blank stares, "into a vampire."

* * *

><p>Two hours later, Harry was grateful their conversation had gone as well as it had. At first, they had all been shocked. All of the red had drained from Ron's face and he had quickly leaned back from Harry, as if he was in danger of catching vampirism if he breathed the same air.<p>

Ginny had screeched in a very unattractive way, and questioned him with tears shining in her eyes.

Neville had gasped and looked at him nervously, though he had handled it much better than Harry thought he would have. He should have known better than that. Harry knew how often everyone underestimated the blonde Gryffindor.

Harry had gone on to tell them all he had learned over the last two weeks about vampires and his new life. They had looked on as he spun for them and showed off his new, healthy body. Harry found himself feeling proud to show off his body. Now he felt as good as he looked. He had always been skinny and almost sickly looking. Harry had gone from the scrawny, malnourished, knobbly-kneed, rangy body he had from years of starvation and ill care, to a softer, more muscled, and almost feminine body, in that it was more curved than angled.

One thing that had not gone over well was his new relationship with Severus. Ginny had tried to put up a strong front, knowing that they had not really been dating anymore, but Harry knew her well enough to see behind the boisterous and lively front. She was hurt. Because of him.

He had distracted them from the more… unpalatable… aspects of being a vampire with his new abilities and sharper senses. By the end of their meeting, he thought everyone was leaving, if not happy about the situation, then more understanding, even if Ron seemed a bit… subdued.

**A/N: I wanted to explain myself to anyone who ****thought that what Snape did was cruel and too evil****. I figured that that was in Snape's nature to kill Nott in revenge. He is an extreme man and he is certainly dark enough to pull it off without feeling too guilty about it. He certainly has no problem with seeking vengeance (he did his best to be cruel to Harry simply because he **_**looked**_** like his father!) He did voluntarily join the death eaters and only switched sides because of Lily! Also, he was the potions maker for Voldemort and I think he would have been used to using potions in this way. Hope you did not find it too disagreeable. I don't think there will be any more evil Snape, or at least not much.**


	8. Safe Room

**A/N: I wanted to explain something that seems to have got lost in translation. I want to make it clear that my Ron is not an Evil!Ron nor is this a Ron bashing story. Ron is not crazy. He is simply being pulled in different directions by conflicting emotions and traumatised by the war and death of the past year and his actions and reactions toward Harry are influenced by this.**

**Beta reader: Much thanks to Iriya!**

**Chapter 8 – Safe Room**

Draco's knuckles were white as he clasped his hands behind him. He stood still before the dingy glass of the window in the abandoned classroom that had become his and Potter's lunchtime haven the previous month and a half. He tried to focus his attentions on the cold mid-November rain that was pummeling the dreary looking grounds.

He was anxious. His body thrummed with nervous energy, but he refused to give into the urge to pace the dusty floors. Malfoys did not fidget and he was certainly not going to expend the energy over Potter. Instead, he pretended he was not listening for the familiar sounds of Potter's shuffled steps to approach the door and was, in fact, contemplating more important things, though he would not have been able to name what those important things could be.

Potter had not shown up yesterday. Draco shivered at the thought of being stood up again by the only person in school who had given him the time of day and showed him any considerations other than those of malicious intent. The spike of dread within him was only dulled by the look on Potter's face when he had come across him yesterday afternoon. He had looked properly guilty. Draco hoped that boded well for today's meeting, if there was to be one.

Despite his trepidation, Draco hoped that it would indeed go well. Since the night of the attack and his subsequent learning of Potter's new affliction, he had been studying up on vampires. Having no friends or devious scheming to sidetrack him this year, he had found that he had more than enough time to concentrate on his studies. Since that night, however, he had devoted himself to the task of searching out and reading all of the information that the Hogwarts library contained on vampires with fervor. Where before he had run on autopilot and studied only because there was nothing else to do, he took on the task of tracking down and collecting all the information on vampires that he could with an enthusiasm he had not felt since fifth year.

Unfortunately, there had been surprisingly little to be found in the labyrinthine book shelves of the Hogwarts library. He had had to call for one of his house-elves to bring him some of his books from the Malfoy libraries. Those were decidedly more Dark in content. He had hoped to find much more comprehensive knowledge within, but he was to be disappointed. There had indeed been more information in the Darker books, but not much more. In the end, he had resorted to including mythologies and legends in his compilation of information.

The extensive search and study helped to divert his mind from his own morose thoughts and the cruel jeers of his classmates. Without the outlet that Potter provided with his quiet companionship and attentive ear, he had badly needed a distraction from his increasing depression.

Mostly, however, the gathering of information was going to be put towards his goal of helping Potter. The two weeks alone had allowed him to take the time to really think about his tentative friendship with the Gryffindor. At first, he had merely been curious as to what Potter would become, but as he thought about the fellow seventh year it had turned into a mission.

As he read on the vampiric condition, it became clear that Potter's path would not be an easy one. He grudgingly admitted to himself that he owed Potter. Potter had become the only person left in his life that even remotely listened to him of seemed to care. In response to the bespectacled boy's open-minded kindness, he had shared parts of his self that no one had ever seen and secrets no one had ever heard. He still automatically reached for disdain when thinking of the boy on reflex, but he now acknowledged that Potter had become his only and best friend. He sneered inwardly at the very Hufflepuff sentimentality of it all, but he had come to feel that he should be there for the brunette at this time of difficulty as he had been there for Draco.

He had no idea how the headmistress was handling the situation. The books had said little about the transition from human to vampire, but what he had read had not sounded fun. There were differing accounts on just about every aspect of the change from wizard to vampire. It had been the general consensus, however, that new vampires would emerge bloodthirsty and untrained in how to go about quenching that thirst.

Draco had come prepared.

For now, however, he was just waiting to see if the sod would show up. His ridged control finally cracked and he launched himself into one of the many old classroom chairs that occupied the room, after a swift cleaning charm. He felt a little pathetic as he waited so eagerly for the boy who he had only months before considered his greatest adversary and rival in a dingy abandoned classroom. He tapped his fingers on the scarred surface of the ancient table top in front of him. He soothed his wounded pride by telling himself that he had discovered the room first. He only needed time alone, regardless if the berk showed up or not.

The nervous flutterings in his belly stilled as he heard the familiar footsteps. By the time the door swung open, he had painted his cool mask back on.

"Potter," he greeted with a nod.

* * *

><p>The moment Harry approached the empty corridor, a ball of anxiety had settled hard and cold in his chest. Today had been just as bad as yesterday, his fellow students entertaining themselves with the latest scandal à la Harry Potter. He could not believe it, though, truly, he should not have been surprised. Not six months before he had fulfilled his destiny and killed "ol' Voldie" for them and the crowds still did not hesitate to believe the worst of him.<p>

He was more than ready for some time away from the suffocating curiosity and gleeful maliciousness of his fellow students.

Unfortunately, he still had Draco to deal with, if the boy had bothered to show up at all. He fully expected the cool blonde to be angry at him for standing him up yesterday. That was, if he was not thoroughly sickened by the Golden Boy marrying his Head of House.

He shook his head in exasperation. At this point in his life it was about all he could do. He had the weirdest problems.

He hoped that the boy would show up, however, even if it was just to sneer at him. He had found to his surprise that he had really missed his time with the other boy. He had thought of him often while lying blind and deaf in Severus' chambers. How was he getting on?

Harry had listened for the past few months as the boy he had once seen as a pale imitation of his criminal father and an arrogant Death Eater wannabe, had done everything but cry on his shoulder. Malfoy had become Draco in his mind, the mask that he had presented the world crumbling down when they shared that one hour a day together. The blonde Slytherin had spilled out his hopes, dreams, and most of all, his fears and pains, out to him. Harry knew he was the only person the other boy had who would bother to listen.

He listened in horror as Draco described how those around him persecuted him. Strangers accosted him in the streets, those who were meant to protect him simply ignored his pain, and former friends were now his tormentors. He hoped the Slytherin had not been hassled too much while he had been away.

He had felt for him from that first day, understanding far too well what the other boy was going through. He knew what it felt like to be scorned by everyone and beaten down, but he also knew that Draco would never appreciate his pity. So he had simply listened and tried to offer advice; advice that had been tested and proven useful time and again through his own similar experiences, though the other boy never knew it.

Eventually, as the days passed, it was Draco who sat and listened attentively, occasionally nodding in understanding or offering his own bits of advice. It had been such a relaxed atmosphere. Draco had bared himself to the boy who, one could say, put his family in Azkaban through the defeat of Voldemort. Harry had felt completely at ease divulging some of his darkest secrets and sensitive topics.

He had talked about wanting a father figure, getting one in the form of his godfather Sirius, and losing him through his own recklessness. He had talked about the weeks on the run, searching for Horcruxes. He had talked about what had happened when he had died. He had talked about what it felt like to see his parents, Remus, and Sirius at the end. He had even hinted at his life with the Dursleys.

Harry had never had someone he felt that he could talk to like that. Neither Ron nor Hermione would have understood the things he had gone through in his life, having grown up in warm families and loving environments. He often found himself editing the things that he said in order to prevent lectures from Hermione or setting off Ron on an angry rant. They were his best friends, true, and always would be, but some things could only be shared with someone who could truly understand the horrors of the world and empathise. His friends had never known true unending cruelty outside of stories blasted on the Daily Prophet's front pages of Death Eaters and their limited run-ins with them during the hunt last spring.

Now, however, he did not know if he had ruined everything. Yesterday he had been afraid that the same amused vindictiveness that he had seen on every face that day would be seen on Draco's. He had not thought he was strong enough to face the cold glint in his steel grey eyes and scornful sneer that he remembered from their days of enmity. But he had seen the look in the other boy's eyes yesterday afternoon and it had not been what he had expected.

So, he trudged down the darkened corridor, the torches not having been lit in the unused space. He had no problem studying the dusty flagstones beneath his feet, his acute eyesight able to see everything in the hallway, as he grew closer to the room he had begun to think of as theirs. His heart floated up and lodged in his throat, choking him with apprehension. With his sensitive hearing, he could hear that Draco had come. He could hear the boy tapping his fingers on wood and bouncing his leg on the stone floor.

Slowly, he opened the old door, the wood cracked with age.

"Potter," Draco said.

It sounded cold, his voice taking on formal tones. He stood up stiffly from where he had been seated, and struck an imposing yet aloof stance. Harry would have bet that it was a look the Slytherin had seen his father perfect.

Seeing this cold behaviour from the boy he had grown so close to hurt, but he deserved it after deserting him yesterday. He would have been worried about their continued friendship if it had not been for the relief he saw in Draco's eyes. Harry was always amazed at how easy the other boy was to read when one got to know him. Those silver eyes were an open window where his true feelings could be seen readily behind that Malfoy mask.

"Hey," Harry replied, closing the door behind him and leaning back against it with a sheepish smile.

"Decided I was worth your time, did you?" Draco drawled in a deceptively careless tone, raising an eyebrow.

Harry sighed and looked at his companion imploringly.

"I'm sorry, Malfoy," he said, ignoring the shocked look on the Slytherin's face. He had obviously not expected such a blunt admittance of fault. But really, what did he expect? He should know by now that Harry was not the subtlest of people. "To be honest, I was a bit afraid you would be mad at me for getting involved with your Head of House. I know that you guys were always close."

"Potter, I know," Draco announced, crossing his arms and resting his hip on the table top.

"About the life debt? Yeah, it looks like that news spread around pretty quickly, though most people seem to want to believe we've had some torrid affair in the potions classroom when people weren't looking," Harry laughed wearily.

"No, Potter. I. Know. About the vampire thing."

Harry froze.

_He knows! Oh, God, he knows! Does everybody know? Who told him?_

Harry simply stared, wide-eyed and mouth opening and closing like a fish, unable to find words to help in this situation.

"H-How? Who told you? Oh, God!" Harry finally squeaked out, ending with the moaned exclamation.

"Calm down Potter! I was there! I was there when they brought you in to the Hospital wing," Draco explained. "No one realised I was there and I overheard everything."

Harry let out a shuddered breath, trying to calm himself down from the near panic he had worked himself up to.

"You know," he stated as if talking to himself. He ran his fingers through his hair and studied the other boy who remained leaning against the table, as if they were simply talking about the next Quidditch match. "So, you're not freaked out?"

"It did take me a little while to get used to the idea…" Draco shrugged carelessly.

"Oh," Harry sighed, "That's funny, because I sure as hell haven't."

"Well, you look a sight better than the last time I saw you," Draco drawled, looking the Gryffindor up and down.

"Yeah, I guess it's all part of the process. My whole body has changed!"

Draco only smirked. He liked what he saw. Potter was a lot more filled out now, though his school robes covered it well, preventing it from being overly obvious.

"So what's this about you being married to Professor Snape?" he asked.

"Ugh! It's all very complicated..." Harry sighed and began retelling the information he had received from Severus about the changes he had gone through and the strange relationship they now had.

"Oh," Draco said at the end of his long explanation.

"What?" Harry asked, apprehension growing in his chest. The pale boy looked disappointed for some reason.

"It's just that… well," Draco's cheeks began to pink in embarrassment. He had done all that research and none of it was of any use. "I did some reading and it led me to believe that you would be suffering, that you would need blood. So I brought this."

Draco reached in his pocket and retrieved a medium sized vial. It was filled with a thick red substance. Immediately Harry blanched and then flushed in excitement. A slight tangy smell wafted from the vial and curled up his sensitive nose. He could feel his teeth begin to itch as if his blood teeth were fighting to push out and his mouth watered.

It was a vial of blood.

"I brought this in case you were hungry. It's my blood. I thought, if you need me, I would be your donor," Draco looked at Harry shyly, offering the vial to him.

Harry could not believe it. That Draco would consider doing something like that was staggering to Harry. He offered to potentially put his life on the line to help Harry. Harry was truly grateful.

And now that the idea had been presented, Harry's mind was filled with it. He could smell the other boy easily as well as the blood. His eyes dilated in pleasure. His sight narrowed to the thumping pulse at his neck. To bite him, to have a taste of that alabaster skin and rich pure blood, would be heaven.

He shook his head, trying to clear it of the bloodlust. He was still not comfortable with how much he craved blood. This was Draco, not a piece of treacle tart! But there was no denying that he wanted the other boy's blood now that it had been offered. The only thing was that he did not know how to yet. He had only drunk from his Sire. Would he be allowed to so soon after his turning? There was only one solution: ask Severus.


	9. Seeking Out Severus

**Chapter 9 – Seeking Severus**

Harry trudged down the busy corridor, making his way through the migrating students just released from their final classes of the day and down to the dungeons. The stone hallways held a chill that reflected the growing of winter outside and as Harry descended the dungeon steps, the air grew noticeably colder.

Harry shivered, but the action had little to do with the cool dungeon air. This is where it had happened. The dungeons were where he had been caught unawares. He realised it had actually happened in an abandoned classroom, which could be found all over the castle, some as equally remote and unused, but in his mind he associated the dungeons with that night.

The dungeons were a maze of corridors and doorways. One could hide so well down here, around corners or simply fade into the shadows. They could be watching him right now and he would never know it. Harry trembled just thinking about it. He took no comfort in knowing that with his heightened senses, he would easily discover anyone hiding in the darkness. It was not a _rational_ fear.

He shook his head as if to shake the paranoid thoughts from his head and out his ears. He knew it was ridiculous, but still…

He tried to turn his thoughts to less morose things. It was only his second day back to classes and things were going as well as he had expected; so, not well at all. With everyone looking at him and talking about him all the time, it was hard not to give into his troubled thoughts sometimes. He would, more often than he would like, find himself having to pull into himself and calm himself down from the panic he could feel building in his chest.

All of those eyes looking at him. There were eyes swimming in amusement at the spreading and increasingly perverse rumours. Some looked at him speculatively, curiously. Those looks he could handle. He was the Boy Who Lived after all. He was used to those kinds of looks. He could not help, however, to see hardness there, glimpses of eyes glinting with malice and hatred and manic insanity that he would see in an instant before it was gone.

The one relief in his day had been today's double period of Potions class. He should not have been so surprised. Of course Snape would not have allowed his students to waste time gossiping in his classroom, no matter who it was about. The man had burst into the classroom, as was his habit, and immediately all eyes were on him. Harry had instantly calmed, tension he had not realised he had been holding all day leaching from him.

That had not been the only reason Potions had been the decidedly bright spot of his day. Harry had found that his brewing had benefited tremendously from his hypersensitive senses. He had noticed immediately when he had begun organising his workspace, setting out the ingredients needed and the implements he would be using. He could see that some of the Wormroot tendrils were slightly fresher than others. He could smell that the Cough Calm Elixer Zacharias Smith was making beside him was improperly brewed halfway through and long before he saw the almost imperceptibly different (and wrong) coloured result.

Harry turned the corner and, only slightly more hurried than was strictly necessary, gave the password and bolted inside. He leaned heavily against the door once on the other side, feeling himself relax fully for the first time that day since he had left their quarters.

With his new sensitivity to the intricacies of potions ingredients and reactions, Harry had produced what was easily his best brew ever at the end of the class. He flushed lightly when he remembered the look on Severus' face when he handed it in. Though the man had not moved a muscle in his deeply scowling face, Harry had seen the distinct look of smugness in his eyes. Harry, who had never excelled at the subject found it exhilarating to explore his new abilities, and a small and deep part of him was proud that he would reflect well on his Sire.

He knew however, that he would never be as good as Severus and the man's accomplishment of being the "youngest person to achieve a Potions Mastery in a century" would continue intact. While Harry could chop with greater precision and hear the moment when simmering became boiling, he was still decidedly inept with the whys and the hows. He still could not tell why clover and scorpion tails tended to explode when combined, nor could he even begin to know how to invent or alter a potion any better than he did before.

Still, perhaps it could be something he could do with the Potions Master sometimes. He had found after the past week of reading together in front of the fire, that the ill-tempered man wasn't so bad when he was silent… and paying attention to something other than him.

Slinking away from the door, Harry had to admit that no matter how they got along, he would feel much better when the man returned from his office. Even his less than pleasant company was better than sitting alone and stewing in his own irrational fear.

Besides, he wanted to talk to him about Draco.

* * *

><p>Harry moaned loud and long when the liquid ecstasy hit his tongue. Combined with the feel of Severus' long and graceful fingers rubbing over his peaked nipple through his shirt, Harry was in heaven. He would never get used to the sudden and all-encompassing thrill and flood of arousal that went through him at the first taste of Severus' lifeblood. Already, after only a little more than two weeks of doing it, Harry found he felt himself harden at just a glimpse of the man's naked wrists peeking from his buttoned black shirtsleeves.<p>

He sighed as he began to suck at the delicate column of Severus' wrist. He breathed in the now familiar scent of the man, soft musk layered with the strong spice of a man and mixed with the biting odours of the day's potions. Silky strands of hair brushed his cheeks as he reclined against Severus' sturdy chest while he eagerly drank.

Releasing his hold on the tender flesh, he licked and sucked at the small wounds until they closed and leaned back. As always, Severus licked away the excess blood from his lips. Though Harry had become far less messy with practice, the man seemed to enjoy it and made sure his tongue reached every part of his mouth, sliding against his own, and sucking and nipping at his lips sensuously.

As had become their way, Severus moved from his mouth to trace a fiery path down his throat to his chest as he slid from behind Harry. Severus circled his beaded nipples with his tongue and left wet, open mouth kisses on his stomach. Finally, he reached his throbbing erection, which was sprung up impatiently from where his trousers and pants were bunched around his thighs.

Harry never got tired or less amazed at the sight of his hateful Potions Master enthusiastically sucking him off. The sight of those sneering lips wrapped around his cock and the feel of that enormous nose buried in his pubic hair made his eyes roll to the back in his head and he came with a low moan.

It was the best part of his day, just for that reason. Even though the man kept up a pretense of ignoring his existence whenever possible while simultaneously being aware of every move he made, Harry loved being close to the man like this. He often wondered what it would be like to return the gesture, but he never offered and Severus never asked.

Still, he wanted to give to the man. He knew instinctively that if his Sire wanted of him, he would take, so he waited. It seemed whenever the man was close to him, that new yet deeply ingrained part of him made him feel that way; wanted him to give, submit, make his Sire happy.

Harry knew he did not love the man. How could he? Only two weeks ago their relationship had been a complex mix of deep, grudging respect, and undying animosity. He had, day by day, come to grow comfortable with the idea that he was forever marked and claimed as Severus' Childe. That did not mean he understood than man any more than before.

It had only been a little more than two weeks since they had been thrust together. Though they were steadily growing more comfortable around each other, they had yet to attempt to get any closer emotionally. Harry knew nothing more about the man than what he had before. Yet, there was that pull towards him, a drive for him to touch his body and please him that sung in his blood.

Severus was also thinking about the pull that had him striving for more, though for very different reasons. Yes, the boy was decidedly beautiful; his body had transformed as if it had been made for sex. There was one advantage to becoming the Sire to an eighteen year old boy; an unstoppable libido and a never ending supply of life essence. Yet, he held himself back from fully enjoying the boy. His reasons were varied. The boy was his Childe, yes, but he was also still his student, and it still felt just a little… wrong. He was also certain the boy was a virgin. He was not certain Harry was ready for such an intense physical relationship and would not risk his Childe's contentment to find out.

Now, however, he was considering pushing his hesitation aside.

The boy was far more affected by his experiences than he had previously thought. The attack, combined with the subsequent escape from the real world to heal in his quarters and the changing of his life by his unexpected turning, became a recipe for fear in the boy. He was skittish even in their quarters. He had not missed the spike of panic in his eyes when he had walked in unannounced.

Perhaps it was time to fully claim him.

Severus knew that fully claiming the boy would fulfill a part of his instincts that was crying out to be completely possessed by his Sire. He would be claimed as belonging to Severus, protected and cared for by him in all ways. Severus would do those things anyway, but the nature of the vampire bond required those involved to be linked together in Sire/Childe bonds in order to be fulfilled.

Severus leaned back on his heels, swallowing the boy's essence down with a smack of his lust-swollen lips. Harry's chest heaved as he gasped for breath and sprawled boneless over the couch. Severus tucked the boy's now limp member back into his trousers and narrowed his eyes up at him.

"Why were you not at lunch this afternoon?" he demanded.

"Oh!" Harry, he gasped breathlessly, still recovering from his orgasm, as he remembered the conversation he had had with Draco earlier, "I was meeting up with a friend. We always used to meet up at lunch before… I just didn't know if he wanted to talk to me anymore after… you know."

"After it was announced you married your Greasy Git of a Potions professor?" Severus finished with a challenging raise of his eyebrow.

"NO! No!" Harry rushed to say, "That's not it. He's a Slytherin. I thought he might be upset that I'm with his Head of House or something. I don't know. It made sense at the time," Harry distinctly ignored Severus' mocking snort.

Severus was intrigued. Which of his snakes had been having a secret dalliance with the Golden Gryffindor?

"I take it he was not so distressed as you had imagined?" Severus inquired as he rose from the floor and took up his seat near the fire.

"No. That's the thing. He was alright with it. Very alright with it," Harry said quietly with remembered relief at the easy acceptance from his friend, "In fact, Draco was quite a bit more than alright with it."

Severus stilled at the admission that it was the young Malfoy that he had befriended. It came as quite the surprise that the two fiercest of rivals since the days of he and the Potter gang had seemingly patched things up and become friends. It did not surprise him that Malfoy would accept their relationship, however. Even if he had not been privy to the night of Harry's changing, he would never have pushed away the boy who was now his only ally, let alone one so influential as the Boy Who Lived.

When he had let the boy go with nothing more than the threat of swift retribution, he had done so with the assumption that he had no connections with Potter, or anyone else for that matter. As far as the Potion Master had seen, Malfoy was an island, with no friends and no protectors. He had no one to share the information with and nothing to gain from it. This, however, could cause problems, depending on what the boy chose to do with his leverage.

"Severus, he said that he knows about us! He said he was there in the hospital wing! Can you believe that? I nearly lost my lunch when he said it," Harry nattered on oblivious to Severus' change in mood.

"And just what did he say he was going to do with that information?" Severus said low and dangerous. Finally Harry seemed to have picked up that there was something bothering him.

"Um, well, I kind of wanted to talk to you about that," Harry stated slowly as if trying to approach a cornered animal, "You see, he said that he had actually went and researched vampirism. It was mostly wrong, though, and he thought that I would be suffering and hungry. He actually offered to let me drink from him!"

Severus' neutral mask never changed except to take on a more considering cast. He was startled by Malfoy's offer. He had certainly heard of the rare witch or wizard offering to donate their blood to loved ones who had been turned and abandoned by their Sires or vampire they had fallen in love with, but the Malfoy boy was none of those things.

Unless…

"So, do you think I could?"

The question seemed to come from nowhere and dragged Severus out of his contemplations.

"Could you what, Harry?"

"Could I take him up on his offer? Could I drink from him?" When Severus' eyebrows rose into his hairline, Harry continued, "I know I don't have the experience to do it on my own yet, and I didn't know if I could drink from someone else or if I had to only drink from you, so I thought I would ask you first, but, Merlin, when he gave me that vial with his blood in it, I nearly jumped him right then!"

Severus' eyebrows sank back to furrow at his brow at the mention of the unseen vial of blood.

"And where pray tell is this vial of blood? You were not foolish enough to have consumed blood given to you from an unknown source, bottled under unknown conditions, and of an unknown age, were you?" Severus derided with a hint of concern.

Harry ignored the jibe and retrieved the vial from the pocket of his robes. He caressed the glass, warmed by his own body heat in his pocket, before handing it over to his Sire. As before, even though sealed, it gave off a faint scent that had his mouth watering and his eyes glazing slightly.

Severus took the vial and sniffed it. Unlike Harry, Severus was prepared for the potent effects of the blood contained within. Draco Malfoy was a young, healthy, and very powerful wizard. His blood reflected that and thus was more desirable to those who would consume it.

Still, Severus retained his reservations. Who knew better than he how devious a Slytherin without options could be when presented an opportunity like that; to hold power over one of the most influential figures in the wizarding world would be a boon to anyone willing to take advantage of it.

There was no way he was going to allow his Childe to consume this vial with so many unknown variables surrounding it. That was not even considering that the bearer of said vial was one of his most efficient in potions making. He could have added any number of poisonous substances to it that would not have been detectable even to their far more advanced senses over the enticing smell of healthy blood.

That was not to say he would not consider the boy's offering. Severus would never allow himself to drink from the boy, even if he had offered Severus as well – which he noted Malfoy had not. Even though the boy was eighteen and over the age of consent to donate his blood, he was still Severus' student. As such Severus could not partake of him, given the very sexual situations feeding often resulted in. He would have to be a fool, however, to deny his Childe a fresh source of blood if it was freely presented.

His decision made, Severus turned back to Harry.

"I shall dispose of this vial," Severus informed him, ignoring the petulant groan and continuing, "I will, however, need to meet with Mr. Malfoy to ascertain his true intentions before there is any mention of you drinking from him."

Severus sneered at the ridiculous pout that the boy gave him.

"Ok, I'll tell him tomorrow," Harry announced, already imagining how he would taste.


End file.
